Chapters At some point, the cavernous expanse of the illustrious chamber was more fit to be labeled a basilica than a hall. It was an irony not lost on its makers, or those that toil in the brightly lit marble chamber among the arching pillars and errant machines.
A thousand white coated technicians walk along the conduit routes to check on one-of-a-kind mechanical wonders, while a similar number of red robed adepts and their coffles of servitors flit between even more convoluted contraptions. Scaffolds soar a dozen meters above the ground, connecting exposed columns lined with support struts that would one day decorate the magnificent hall. But for now, it held enormous crystalline helices that span the floor to the wide gallery above them. In time, the masses would see, but for now, only a few distant guardians walk among the silent aeries overlooking their work.
A strange mishmash assortment of objects clutter the antiseptic space; cowling from ancient devices lies split from parent machines, while intricate wax lines streak across the floor, marking out an enormous avian figure that lies beneath the jumbled assortment of devices crowding the landing. All of which would be removed, finished, and polished to a magnificent shine after the inner workings of the unthinkable became reality.
The landing gives rise to a free standing staircase, two hundred and sixteen steps end at an enormous device suspended near the distant wall. Its true purpose might be unclear to many, but its appearance was self evident. An immense throne glows with a soft golden light, fringed like a wreath by electric cabling ducts. Its wires crackle as barely understood generators erect wards on a frill of conduit lines snaking up to the empty seat. Every few moments, eldritch sparks flicker among the curling lines and throw hazy images that dance to life on a bank of monitors clustered around the sides of the free-standing structure. Irreplaceable golden wheels spin and whirl on their axies, connected in looping coils bound by etched platinum bands. Each of those reflect long dead languages from antiquity.
One white coated technician behind an impenetrable silver splash visor jerks his head back. Something strange congeals from the mists on a hololithic plate. Two others, unnamed Selenar minds as bright as the stars, reel back in surprise. One's breath hitches, stewing in a sense of awe and dread in equal measure. Slowly, he finds his voice. A reedy rasp echoes from the circular vox-amp where a mouth should be. “My Lordship!”
From the top of the steps, a single figure brushes a hand across the intricate psychocrystalline wires being bundled beneath the throne's armrest. A simple brush of a black gloved hand lovingly pats the golden plate, easing it into place to cover the delicate machinery. He turns when called, staring out over the small cluster of pristine white figures. He has the only unmasked visage in the room, yet it betrays nothing. His is a mask more inscrutable than the golden helms covering his guardians faces as they pace among the aeries. A mop of black hair is tied back into a knot by a golden ribbon that glints in the light cast by the summit's nimbus.
“My Lordship!” The Selenar man calls a little more boldly, stepping back hesitantly from the bank, and while unseen, his eyes travel to the luminous figure standing beside the throne.
The figure at the summit nods once at a red-robed tech adept, descending the steps with a quickness born of jubilant discovery. His white lab coat billows as he reaches the foot of the landing, weaving seamlessly and precisely among the working clusters of technicians.
“Yes?”
In the presence of the figure that towers over him as a parent to a child, the faceless Selenar bobs his head and gestures towards the display. “The central augury has made contact past the Impossible City, my Lord. You were right, it goes deeper. It goes much deeper.”
“What did you see?”
The scientist nods shakily and hurriedly circles the hololithic projector to flick a few toggles. With a hiss and mist of faint blue, the image plays again. “It was just like this last time.”
A curling path weaves through a cluster of webway corridors into a darkened abyss. There, illuminated by a soft twinkle of starlight, lies the silhouette of a perfect six-limbed tree.
Sibilant whispers and darkness cloud the replay before a more tangible wind billows from unseen corners. With a hum, the gravitic capacitors begin to buzz, and in moments, a gale force wind springs up to lash the interior of the chamber. The uncovered crystalline helices in the corners of the room sing with an unearthly cadence.
“My Lord?!” The Selenar asks as empty partiboard containers scrape along the ground, picked up and tossed by the gale.
But the lone luminescent figure glances to the hololithic display that froths in blue wisps. His gaze is locked on the image melting into being in front of his eyes: a sickly husk sprouts in front of the tree, an eight-limbed weed twisted like the gnarled legs of a desiccated spider.
He doesn't look away as the gravitic generator wells wail, and the winds lash across the high gantries. His golden warriors stare on in horror as an unearthly blue light radiates from the uncovered crystalline structures.
A bolt of lightning lances out from an overloaded capacitor, raking black furrows in the room, a second and third lash out to smash equipment in clouds of scintillating sparks. A low throaty growl emanates from the landing, and with a cataclysmic bang, the crystal pillars shatter in a hurricane of murderous slivers like snow caught in an updraft. Those engulfed by the blizzard of crystal shards are torn to ribbons as banks of equipment explode in glittering flashes.
Sickly blue light and screaming winds pierce the world as an infernal red glow and bestial moan shakes the chamber. The winds die down and the racking forks of lightning subside, but a deep abyssal thrum still rings in the chamber. A lone figure slumps to its hands and knees in the middle of a wavering circle of glittering arcane runes at the foot of the stairs.
The figure dwarfs all but the single luminescent being; his skin hued like dark arterial blood, and garbed in a cloak of many colors. The figure groans, heaving his bulk to standing amid the shimmering heat haze. His single eye stares unfocused as the magnitude of his position comes into focus.
The Crimson King's lone eye traces up from the feet of one who swiftly approaches, each step a thunderclap in its own right. For a fraction of a second, their eyes meet. Words start to form on numb lips but never make it into being. The steely glare of countless eons staring back silence any protest or warning as the enormity of the moment washes over the interloper like an ocean swell.
His icy stare peers out from a perfectly carved face framed in an unbound mane of black hair swirling in the maelstrom. The glamours fade for an instant, and for a second that lasts an eternity, the weight of a galaxy presses on the Crimson King's shoulders and presses him back to kneeling.
“Magnus, what have you done?”
“How long has it been? How many years has this gone on? I see them now, as through a mirror and past a veil. Others do not think, they rage and they scream, and they kill. They kill and try to feel the joy in it, yet find nothing but hollowness. When they finally realize that sensation is out of reach and they will never find that release, one of two things may happen: they break and rage against the shackles, or they despair and sink into a dreamless sleep, desperately hoping to pass from among the living. Despite their rituals and empty rhetoric, we are warbeasts to those who wear the laurels. We are not beyond pain, yet we are inured to other sensations.
What has changed since yesterday? Nothing. But what was yesterday? A day, a month, a year; all are meaningless when we have no direction. Even the rain pelting down and the winds whipping around my ankles means nothing.
I see them now, slinking in the muck and mire. I hear the voices from ages past whisper to me, urging me to spit venom and turn them to rags. To my shame, I do. I see them again, their pieces strewn across churned morasses as the mud falls among the raindrops. Once alive, so alive, now so very still.
We were there once. I was there once. I felt as they felt, I lay as they lay. I saw the sky through fading eyes. I pity them. I feel no rage. I feel cold. I feel my fangs, but I have no claws.
Maybe tomorrow I will feel the winds, and the rain.
Maybe tomorrow.”
Individuals listed by company and relative rank as of the events at the end of The Horus Gambit.
Equestrians
Celestia- Princess of the Day, co-ruler of Equestria
Luna- Princess of the Night, co-ruler of Equestria
Twilight Sparkle- Princess of Friendship
Neighsay- Chair for the Equestrian Education Association and member of the Equestrian Royal Council
Sunset Shimmer- Current pupil of Princess Luna
Starlight Glimmer- Pupil of Twilight Sparkle
Northling Barnyard- Doctor, University of Canterlot Medical department
Moondancer- Graduate Student, University of Canterlot Thaumatological department
Sine Wave- Graduate Student, Lead field researcher for University of Canterlot Polytechnical department
Clarion Call- Graduate Student, field researcher for University of Canterlot Polytechnical department
Cosine Wave- Graduate Student, intern field researcher for University of Canterlot Polytechnical department
Trixie Lulamoon- Stage performer
Legiones Astartes:
XVI legion: Sons of HorusPrimarch of the 16th Legion, Warmaster of the Great Crusade
Maloghurst “The Twisted”- Equerry to the Warmaster and senior diplomat
Logaan- Interim Chief Apothecary
Ezekyle Abaddon- First Captain, 1st company
Falkus Kibre "The Widowmaker"- Justarian Captain, 1st company
Tarik Torgaddon- Captain, 2nd company
Iacton Qruze- Captain, 3rd company
Horus Aximand “Little Horus”- Captain, 5th company
Serghar Targost- Captain, 7th company
Garviel Loken- Captain, 10th company
Luc Sedirae- Captain, 13th company
Tybalt Marr “The Either”- Captain, 18th company
XV legion: Thousand Sons“The Crimson King” primarch of the Thousand Sons
Amon- Emissary to Magnus
Ahzek Ahriman- Chief Librarian, Leader of the Corvidae cult, and Sekhmet commander
III legion: Emperor's Childrenprimarch of the Emperors children
Fabius- Lieutenant Commander, Chief Apothecary and preeminent xenobiological geneticist
Eidolon- Lord Commander of the Emperor's Children
Vespasian- Lord Commander of the Emperor's Children
VI Legion- The Rout “Space Wolves”Primarch of the Space Wolf legion
Freki- Leman Russ's bodyguard wolf
Geri- Leman Russ's bodyguard wolf
Geigor Fell-Hand- Theign, 13th company
XVII Legion- Word BearersCaptain, 94th company
Alkhar- Vigilator, 94th company
Non-Astartes Custodes Captain-General, Right hand of the Emperor
Jenetia Krole “The Soulless Queen”- Knight-commander of the Silent Sisterhood.
Kanathara "The Lurker"- She whose hooves shatter mountains and voice lulls the Sun, Greater Daemon
Chapter 1: Canterlot Complications
Empty halls yawn in front of the mare as she trots down the long granite corridor. Here and there she passes small colonnaded vestibules that empty into closed door proceedings rooms, catching glimpses of ponies gathered together in huddled crowds. Many were dressed in their finery, spic and span with crests, coats, and even jewelry to mark their station. Suddenly, she was regretting the choice of the charcoal grey sweater with the frayed hem and stubborn gravy stain. It was kinda made up for by the gaudy onyx and silver crescent amulet on a lanyard looped around her neck. Even so, it made her look like she was going to be on the Q&A panel at a Daring Do convention, not sitting in the high court chambers of the Canterlot courthouse. Twilight's posh headache of a friend might have had a point after all. So, thank the stars that so many of those ponies are so focused on their own issues that she herself escaped notice.
That's good. The insanity of the past few months had been hard to deal with; ponies on the streets whispering and glancing her way whenever she was out, her name was on the front page of newsprint from Canterlot to Vanhoover... okay maybe not the headlines, but her name was there. And then there was that nosy journalist mare who'd had the gall to snap pictures of her when she got into the shower.
A grunt of irritation escapes the mare as she shoves her glasses up her snout and blows her bangs away from her eyes for the umpteenth time, only to take in a sharp breath as the form of a too-close pony materializes barely a hoofstep in front of her face. Her drifting thoughts had made her nearly meander straight into a gold-clad guard stallion. Moondancer quickly skitters past, keeping her head down to ignore the evident glares of haughty smugness that was sure to meet her if the other ponies caught sight of her little mistake.
She trots by awkwardly trying to look down and not be recognized, only to realize she'd shoved her way through a crowd of ponies in her haste to get through.
'Oh well.'
Moondancer turns into the hallway, a wide vestibule with dozens of ponies cluttered around the nave of the Canterlot Courthouse's supreme court room. She'd found her way after all. Okay, it was more by accident then intent, but nopony had to know that. Or that she'd stopped for cherry danish on her way to the courthouse.
All the surrounding benches had long since been taken, and the general milling and excited talking poured out in an indistinct sea of sound. Moondancer glances around, hoping to spot at least somepony that was familiar, but knew full well that her friend-ish, acquaintance, associate, or whatever, was probably inside already.
The Unicorn was just one of probably forty ponies in that round, a few were very obviously reporters and journalists given the paperfilly caps and camera harnesses. A flash of yellow and blue in that circle gets Moondancer to cringe, remembering the eager face of the mare staring in her bathroom window. Yep, that had given her nightmares for about a week.
Scampering through the masses, bumping a few aside with her saddlebags, she passes straight towards the dual doors dominated by the great seal of the Equestrian crown. A flash, a moment of recollection stirs as the Unicorn's mind conjures images of enormous marble doors surmounted by a pair of piercing eyes in the midst of a monochromatic wasteland... then it was gone.
A pair of guards opens a door with a squeak to allow her entrance. Moondancer ignores the stairwells to the left and right, choosing to trot straight down the center aisle. The stark divide between light and dark steals the fine details away before Moondancers eyes could adjust, thus she's left with only a single mesmerizing picture: a radiant gold and ruby coated mare stands amid a chamber of utter darkness, illuminated alone under a solitary pool of sunlight shining from the unseen heavens.
“-and accounts are specifically and technically accurate, but without any real context, it's been misinterpreted by the council.”
But where once there was a certain air of confidence and warmth, Sunset's voice rings with a stilted echo of some rehearsed and practiced drone. It was a sound utterly foreign to the mare's more soulful imploring resonance. Sunset Shimmer's red and gold fur practically glows, the augmented sunlight winking off a small silver chain on her neck as she inclines her head to meet the gaze of the unseen individuals.
“The sources that the council has drawn from, miss Shimmer,” A stallion's tight controlled drone emerges from the darkness in front of Sunset. Though, it wavers at 'miss' like he'd been forced to bite into a lemon, “are direct notations and quotes pulled from her majesty Princess Sparkle's own notes about the incident. Would you say that Twilight Sparkle, princess of Equestria, duchess of Smithshire, and lady of house Sparkle, is the kind of pony to severely mischaracterize events in her personal records?”
'I know that voice.' thought Moondancer. Why did it conjure up nightmare sensations of not studying for tests, teeth falling out, and showing up to late to class in a pair of lacy stockings?
“Not typically, no.” Sunset barely flinches, but Moondancer spots the muscles in her rump and hind legs flex - not that she was looking - but manages to keep her tail from flicking in annoyance. That wouldn't look good for story-starved reporters.
Moondancer knew it was a half-hearted answer, and evidently, so did the interrogating stallion, “I see. Was this incident typical, or atypical of Princess Twilight Sparkle when she, and I quote, wrote 'that the very presence of such an extraordinary relic under our very hooves, represents the potential for a clear and present danger. It is now a known unknown force, linked with potent magics the likes of which we have seldom glimpsed except in passing since the Pre-Classical era.' She then goes on to say that the incident, and again I quote, 'does not differ substantially from some of the magics and patterns witnessed during the Summer Sun incident of one-thousand CE.' That same Summer Sun incident, need I remind you, which saw the return of Nightmare Moon to Equestria.”
It gets a sniff of anger from Sunset as a stormy glint forms in her eye, but as she goes to reply another cultured voice intercedes. “Chancellor Neighsay," Moondancer draws in a sharp breath as all the horrors of Morality 101 and that utterly soulless husk of a father-bucking professor crashes down on her like a neutron star. "Would you kindly not indulge in casting vague aspersions on national treasures or our princesses, please? This is not a trial, it is a public inquiry to determine just what occurred during the events of Fruicember the sixteenth through twenty-ninth and how it relates to the object now called...” a rustle of parchment gets Moondancer's ears to perk up, “Object Two-Ninety-One, the Luminal Mirror.”
Moondancer's eyes had finally adjusted, and she finds herself peering at the speaker in the chairpony's seat; Canterlot's Liege Mayor, Fancy Pants. The Unicorn stallion still smiles as he looks over the floor, ignoring the sharp glare from Neighsay on the level below him. He was on the extreme left, with four other ponies taking up the rest of the judicial bench. In Celestia's absence, Fancy Pants was probably the best they could hope for.
Neighsay's severe turquoise eyes glint in the darkness giving him a nearly demonic glare. “It is also convened to determine if it's appropriate to approve its continued operation, Chairpony Fancy Pants.”
It was all deeply cult-like to the Unicorn. Moondancer creeps to a spot she knew was waiting for her, just on the inside of the chamber on the left hand side. It was a lone gallery bench where supporters would be close at hoof. Moondancer takes a seat, her hip bumping a small bundle of bound papers that was the only other presence on the long bench. It was a good thing too, her day/night vision had always been terrible and slow to compensate. Only now could she see at least a hundred ponies staring at Sunset from their spots in the galleries above, three tiers like a school gymnasium let them watch some of the biggest trials and accords in modern pony history.
Sunset stands right in the center, under the scrutiny of six regally attired magistrates glaring down from their perches behind the bench. There was Fancy Pants, Neighsay, then two other unicorn mares and two Pegasi whose names she should probably know but frankly, didn't. Enduring the figurative slings and arrows of the Canterlotian nobility was trying, as Moondancer knew from experience defending academic papers, but Sunset Shimmer stands with a resolute stiffness that all but invited the world to try and fight her.
Neighsay's right eye lofts before he twitches a hoof onto a small desk lamp, flicking the dull light on and inspecting something behind the lectern lip. “But in the light of making peace: I apologize if you feel insulted, miss Shimmer, we were merely trying to understand just what the implications are for ponies near and far. It was not a personal slight, and no offense was meant, if that's how it was understood.”
'Horse apples, you knew exactly how that sounded.' Moondancer scrunches her nose.
“None taken.” Sunset mutters reflexively with a sigh, as if it were depressingly routine.
Neighsay's voice clips back just as imperviously, “But I would still appreciate further.... clarification.” he flips back and forth over a few documents, glancing aside away from the magister's bench to something that Moondancer can't catch a glimpse of. “Is it true that you, yourself, have a great deal of experience with the object in question?”
Sunset sighs and nods, “Yes, I currently consider my home on the other side of the mirror. Like I said before. Twice.” She scrunches her muzzle.
“But you are, indeed, from Equestria?” An old grey nag of a Pegasus mare opposite Neighsay asks sharply.
“Again, yes.” Sunset's tail visibly twitches in irritation this time.
“So why did you leave?” The Pegasus asks again, getting a very notable inhalation from Sunset.
Another sigh from the upper judicial bench precedes at least a short reprieve as Fancy Pants admirably keeps his calm and jovial mien, “Perhaps it is best we took a short recess before the Princess's scheduled appearance. Ten minutes should do.”
Sunset bobs her head in deference and relief as a gavel strike releases them all from the cult-like proceedings. Sunset quickly turns to leave the powerful spotlight, her hooves clopping on the flagstone floor as the darkness starts to dissolve with the sudden flare of lights from wall sconces and a great chandelier hidden high up among the vaulted rafters.
“You, uh, did pretty good out there.” Moondancer offers awkwardly, making Sunset jolt in surprise.
The fiery Unicorn mare laughs in relief, “Oh, it's just you. Sorry, you scared me for a second. Can't-” she blinks obviously and squints, “quite see yet. The light's just like any other spotlight, you're basically blind. I know they said it's so you aren't distracted by a crowd, or lack of one, but mare does it get awkward. Fast.”
Moondancer quickly and quietly reaches into her saddlebag, pulling out a pair of thermoses and offering one in her arcane grasp. “Yeah, my dissertation was like that too. But the door only opened twice and I think it was for Professor Folly to take a smoke break while I went over the importance of Pre-Ponynesian lay line structures.”
“Never tried smoking, but it sure sounds like a time to pick it up.” Sunset winks and nudges Moondancer in the barrel as she takes a seat alongside the Unicorn mare. “Kidding. Kidding.” She sighs in relief as the pair of mares sit on the empty bench. The lights swell to reveal the masses of ponies in the stands and several aids conversing with the noble magisters.
“Well I thought it was interesting.” Moondancer huffs and looks over, pony watching awkwardly as she nudges her glasses up.
“I'm sure it is. Get together with Starlight and Twilight and I'd probably have to wheel in a food trolly or you'd starve to death.”
The cream-coated mare snorts, a smile flickering around the edges of her lips, “Sounds like fun: cart in nachos or cart out Trixie and I would seriously cut you in on next year's grant money.”
Sunset's deep cackle isn't the most delicate or discreet, getting at least a few reporters in the front gallery to look over them and snap a few pictures. “Nice. Though that's more Spike's department, at least according to him rather than Twilight.” Sunlight shifts, uncapping the thermos and sniffing its scalding hot contents, “Speaking of Twilight.” She still smiles, but a slight strain of hesitation emerges.
Moondancer just shakes her head. “She said she was afraid she'd do more harm than good if she came. I mean, it was her personal correspondence that got us into this.”
“I don't blame her, she's the stenographer ponies' princess after all. It's only natural she'd write everything down for the record.” Sunset blows across the thermos rim and tentatively takes a sip of the proffered drink. Her ears flick up and she glances over in surprise, “Buck me sideways, salted caramel latte?”
Moondancer's self satisfied smirk swiftly disappears behind the lip of her own thermos. “What, you thought I'd come anywhere near here without a buzz?”
Sunset downs a draught from her mug and hisses back a sigh of discomfort from the heat. “Moony, right now you may be my favorite pony.”
Moondancer sighs, looking up into the galleries, “We're so gonna get hobbled here, aren't we?”
“You expecting three hours of ponies making sniping shots at you choosing to live in another dimension while casually implying that your princess patrons are either monsters or antisocial outsiders too?” The fiery hued Unicorn stares down into her mug and lofts her brow before continuing to blow little ripples across the surface.
“Only if they find my fan fiction.” She pointedly ignores the little cough and splutter from Sunset. “But then, those wouldn't be the weirdest questions I'd expect to hear.” Moondancer returns to sipping her drink and setting her somewhat distant gaze on the judicial bench before blowing her bangs out of her face with a little huff.
A slow grin parts Sunset's muzzle, “Hey, you did your mane today! I guess miracles do happen after all.” Moondancer's cheeks flush as she sinks further into her sweater's collar. “No no, it looks good. I was wondering why you looked a little different. It's kinda like Twilights, but not. It suits you."
“Y-you too.” Moondancer's eyes narrow to pinpricks and she stares unblinkingly at the magister's bench at the front. It was better than admitting that she'd flinched from a pair of scissors and her bangs had come out uneven as a result. Any shorter to even it up and she'd probably look like she was suffering from mare pattern baldness.
'You were doing so bucking well, filly. Get it together, get it together!'
Screaming internally, the awkward mare just sits on the bench as Sunset massages her throat with a hoof and sips her drink. The general murmurs and glances from the crowd got the Unicorn to clear her throat with a groggy cough, glaring up at the flash of a camera.
“So, what did I miss?” Moondancer asks, cradling her drink in both hooves and tugging down the hemline of her sweater with her magic.
“Aside from reading from some of the other girl's depositions? Did you hear Rainbow's?” Sunset actually smirks, biting her lip.
“No, why?”
Sunset tries to keep her voice from tumbling into a stilted giggle. “Because all you could hear was the pause and a pen scribbling out her 'inappropriate language'. She probably lost about a third of her whole testimony.”
“Yeah that sounds like what I heard when she got into it with AJ back at my place.” Moondancer flicks her muzzle and looks down into her thermos.
“Was I there for that?”
“No, you tied a sheet around a bedpost and snuck out the window.” Moondancer tries to huff but a dull smile still brightens her face.
Sunset flashes a sheepish grin, “Riiiight. Umm, sorry about that.”
“It's fine. I mean, it is the first time somepony snuck out of my bedroom using something ripped straight from Daring Do.” Moondancer shrugs.
“Really?” Sunset lofts a brow, then bites her lip to stifle a laugh as Moondancer shoots her a sour glare. “Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean it . I just.... actually I'm not quite sure where I was going with that.”
“Sorry, hmm? Oh, you will be. You wiiiiill be." Moondancer wrinkles her muzzle, but a chortle slips out with a somewhat self-deprecating sigh that said 'I know'.
It's a longer, quieter moment among the general murmuring of ponies in the gallery, seated off-center in the empty presentation room, but the two ponies did find themselves in something approaching comfortable silence. Two Unicorns sit drinking in the middle of the Equestrian high court building as reporters and nobles mill in the stands.
“I'm still glad that you came.” Sunset smiles and lets the worries and stress bleed away.
“Hey, anything for a fellow 'Knight of the Moon', right?” Moondancer smirks with a fugitive sideways glance.
Sunset just prods Moondancer's medallion hanging around her sweater-protected neck. “Anything for a friend.” And elbows the mare lightly in the ribs.
Her companion chuckles a little and sighs, nodding a bit as she lowers the thermos to a comfortable spot on the bench edge in front of her. “Yeah. Y'know, if you're staying around, feel free to sta-”
THUMP
Both ponies jolt as the wide doors rock back on their hinges, slamming into the granite walls and echoing through the entire hall. A snort of deep set feral irritation greets them, and a chill washes across Moondancer's neck, prickling every single hair on her nape and running a chilly touch up her spine. Her heartbeat quickens, and with a stiff jerk, she glances back towards the doorway.
Like a living shadow, the Princess of the Night stalks through the vaulted corridor. Something was different, the enlarged platinum perytal armor encasing her chest shines with a cold glossy blue burnish. A shine reflected in the two spaulders covering her withers as they shift with every step. Each fluid movement ends in a punctuating clack as armored greaves and plated boots strike the hard flagstone. She isn't the only one. Four guards follow in her wake, one of each of the three tribes and a Thestral in full representation of her subjects. Each wore indigo lacquered plate emblazoned with a crescent moon.
Without so much as a glance, her fluid steps take her straight into the round that Sunset had occupied just a few minutes before.
The magisters on the bench shoot a few hasty looks at one another, the Princess's entrance being impossible to overlook or ignore.
Fancy Pants, as chairpony, replies first with his usual garrulous warmth. “Aaaah, your majesty. Princess Luna, thank you ever so much for agreeing to speak at this inquiry. Your perspective would be positively invaluable.” He inclines his head, followed swiftly by the others as the voices from the gallery are suffocated in an instant.
Luna says nothing, her cyan eyes gaze sweeps across the mass of ponies before she glances back over her withers as Moondancer and Sunset. The blood freezes in Moondancer's veins, propping her up, eyes wide at the utterly disinterested mask on the Alicorn's muzzle.
“Of course. We have come to reconcile the issues and return the project to full operation.” The princess's tonal plunge brooks no argument, and for a few moments, silence pervades the hall.
“Y-yes, well that is the objective of this council inquiry on behalf of the Equestrian citizens safety commission.” Fancy Pants says with only a hint of a falter. “I suppose we can begin at your leisure, Princess.”
Neighsay snorts at that, swiftly catching Luna's attention. The Princess of the Night merely glares, her frigid gaze letting him know that she considered him little more than an infinitesimal mite. “You may begin your questions.”
In an instant, the packed chamber was as silent as a tomb. Everypony present knew the weight of the proceedings, but something about this was different: Luna's host went unarmed, but it was definitely a display of power. She wasn't merely a common pony that they could chase with drivel and frustrating inconsequential lines of questioning. Already, the air felt chilly and hostile.
“Of course.” Fancy Pants nods and looks to the other magisters over the proceeding, each trying not to squirm in their seats as they shuffle papers or look over small missives.
Sunset looks back and forth, inspecting Luna's armored guards and whispering in Moondancer's ear, “I don't like this.”
Neighsay is the first, the stallion sniffing as he reads from a sheet of parchment when the lights dim. “Princess Luna, would you call the incident related to your action and inaction around the period of Fruicember sixteenth to twenty-ninth an attack on the citizens of Equestria?”
“Yes.”
A sharp and pervasive silence creeps into the hall.
Sunset licks her lips as Moondancer whispers, “Stars above, this is going to go bad, fast.”
Neighsay, after blinking back his surprise at the stonewalled response, clears his throat, “Would you please elaborate?”
“The notes that the council purloined from the personal archives of Twilight Sparkle, and that of her correspondence with Our sister, are incomplete. 'Tis true that the incident was an attack on the ponies of Equestria, albeit indirectly. One in which, only We could resolve.”
“Maybe not.” Sunset whispers back to a skeptical Moondancer.
“Why would that be the case?” Neighsay quirks a brow when he notices there was no forthcoming response.
“Because you are not a Dream Strider.”
The stallion snorts, “With the appropriate amount of magical effort-”
“The Warmaster would have killed you.” Luna's sharp reply comes out almost bored, and would have remained that way if Moondancer didn't see the glittering sparks dancing in her eyes. “Through Our diplomatic efforts, and Our efforts alone, the Mirror is secure.”
Luna was amused.
The Pegasus mare at the opposite end hesitantly pips up, “Anypony called 'the Warmaster' doesn't sound like the kind of pony that we should associate with.”
Luna scoffs, “He is no Zebraic warlord, nor griffon monarch, he is the Warmaster. And he is my friend.”
Neighsay stares as a Unicorn mare next to him glances to the entrenched noble, then back to the princess. “Princess Luna,” she begins, trying to lean forward to hide the quavering squeak as Luna's lighthouse-like gaze sweeps across her, “Princess Twilight called this 'a potential clear and present danger,' and made reference to it linked with potent magics from the Pre-Classical era that were already related to another incident you were involved in-”
“Both of which threatened the citizens of Equestria, both include dark magic, and both are directly related to yourself.” Neighsay's interjection causes both to freeze, the amusement dropping completely from Luna's eyes. “Princess Luna, it is an open secret that you were, and still are, injured from the ordeal. So, what guarantees do we have that the situation is indeed resolved and that you can fulfill your duties?”
Fancy Pants' magister's gavel slams down several times but it was far too late for that. Sunset's ears droop as her eyes widen, “Ooooooh buck.”
“'Tis resolved because We say it is.”
“Chancellor Neighsay,” Fancy Pant's warning tone spoke volumes. “Do I have to remind you about casting aspersions?”
But the Unicorn straightens his posture and looks down the bridge of his muzzle. “We have certain rules in modern Equestria, your majesty. Rules that delegate and entrust the well being and protection of the ponies of this land to the nobles and sheriffs. It's only through inquiries such as th-”
“SILENCE, BEFORE THOU ART SILENCED! ” The princess's lip curls as her hackles rise. “Do not PRESUME to lecture us! Thy worries, like thy titles, mean nothing to Us! We have not gone through tartarus and back to let a cadre of imbecilic bureaucrats try to grapple with forces beyond their ken. We deal with this, because only We are capable of it.”
Fancy Pants clears his throat, “Surely ourselves, or of course, Princess Celestia can share more responsibility while you hea-”
“Thou wouldst never be able to look the Warmaster in the eye. He would dismiss thee as foals, and rightly so. Further, it would make Us look hapless and helpless; and we shall not appear weak in front of him. And if Sister were to become more involved, and need the magics and aid of the weaker caste, then They would pounce on that weakness like a Manticore on a spring lamb.” Luna snorts in derision and straightens her neck, “There is none but I that can guarantee the safety of the Mirror.”
“Is that why you're forming this officially unofficial organization? The Knights of the Moon?” Neighsay wrinkles his brow.
“Tis an ancient and proud order.”
“One disbanded in the first few years of the Celestial era as a danger to Equestrian unity.” Neighsay's remark resounds as clearly as a professors diatribe.
“We do not recognize the decision, it is within Our power to reinstate whomever We wish to Our council."
A moment of complete dead stillness is broken by Fancy Pants' awkward cough. “Unfortunately it is more... complicated, than that.”
The Alicorn's muzzle twitches into a sneer. But before she can bite back, the Pegasus nag at the end of the magister's bench replies, “Princess Luna, can you provide insight into the strange reports coming from the San Palamino observatory since your...incident, beginning on the twenty-ninth of Fruicember?”
"Pray tell, what reports?” Luna replies just as sharply as before.
But her reply peaks the Pegasus mare's attention, “The reports of strange messages sent to the San Palamino audio-acoustics research station? Surely you've seen them?”
Neighsay clears his throat, “They were privy to the research of Canterlot University's academics department. We haven't been able to decipher much meaning from the audio logs beyond their content via linguistics spells.”
“Such was withheld from Us ?!”
For the first time, Neighsay furrows his brow and squints as if to ask if it was a joke. “It is not typical procedure for the University to inform the Crown of any developments until we can form at least a preliminary report.” The Alicorn's teeth audibly grind in frustration. “We can have all the reports forwarded to your office, immediately of course. Though I do believe that the researchers in question are scheduled to appear in Canterlot for a findings summery before the University board, so we can depose them if you wish.”
With a stamp, the princess growls, “Then do so.”
Neighsay inclines his head with a frank nod, evidently a signal to summon a young Unicorn page stallion from the gallery to attend him. The chancellor quickly writes a missive to stuff into the aid's satchel before waving him away.
Fancy Pants takes a breath and nods, “Of course. Now, the council would like to know your perspective regarding the entire incident. Princess Luna, would you please relate the events of the Luminal Mirror incident, from the beginning, to the council.”
Moondancer tilts her head towards Sunset's, whispering quietly. “Didn't you just bucking do that?”
“Yeah.” Sunset sighs and rolls her neck, “Sweet Celestia, today's gonna be a long day.”
“Lucky us,” with a faint clank of metal, Moondancer withdraws another pair of sealed thermoses, “Like a good filly scout, I came prepared.”
"You were in the filly scouts?"
Moondancer smirks and sips her drink, ears flicking at the far-stronger cocktail she'd made the second time around, "Never said I was."
Author's Note
The amount of time me and me mates spent discussing and arguing the merits of Julian/Gregorian vs. Revolutionary calendars was astounding.
For the record, it's a hung jury but everyone sided with the 'revolutionary' naming convention on a 12 month span... and I just happened to have picked one of the worst sounding original months in Gambit. Hail late summer, the month of fruit...
Also eh, guess we're back in action.
Chapter 2: Cthonic Council
Armored footfalls in synchronous lockstep echo down the polished marble hall. The pair of figures pass by the leering terminator wardens, themselves stationed in twos lining the hallway beneath the enormous wolfs head plaque dominating the narrow corridor. Twenty pairs of ruby red eyes cautiously leer at the duo of demi-gods that walk briskly to the enormous ceramite blast doors separating the bridge from the rest of the warship. While the blood stains and burn marks were gone, the menace still lingers in the halls of the Vengeful Spirit. The mistakes and optimism of yesteryear have long since fled.
A pair of hulking onyx Justarian warriors stand on either side of the blast door, not giving a centimeter as the pair of cloaked individuals approach. Their glittering halberds crackle with pulses of dim blue light, electric bolts flickering across the naked blades, a new and intimidating weapon heralding back to archaic glory.
One of the two cloaked figures flashes a silver disc, and with a silent nod, the Justarian terminators part for them as the door yawns open. The din of the command bridge assaults the pair, and even the presence of the demi-gods does little to quiet the noise of hundreds of fleet officers and servitors that go about their routines.
The pair both take in the tiered decks of the Vengeful Spirit's massive bridge, but another sound steals that rhythmic hubbubs sound. Voices like thunder are raised through the bridge, and the mortal crew keep their heads down as the lords of the legion gather.
They were late.
“I am not saying that we should not be seeking vengeance, we all know that a wolf without fangs is no wolf at all. I'm saying that we have no proof of wrongdoing by anyone except Erebus. We can not assume evidence, and we can not prosecute actions that will bring us into conflict with another legion. It is unthinkable. We should be opening up channels with Terra, the Sigilite's informants doubtlessly will be better prepared for this than us.”
“Your caution treads the line next to cowardice, Iacton.” A voice rumbles with a low basal growl. “We should be recalling the entire legion and going straight for Colchis!”
The duo of figures round the corner, staring up at the strategium where even from the lower decks, they could tell it was packed. Dozens of armored forms gather by the rails normally overlooking every instance of the bridge's operations, but each face inwards instead.
“And how precisely are we going to bring Erebus to account?” Iacton Qruze's voice still keeps its soft grace, never rising to the Cthonic barbs and snarls though he and his opposite each spoke the same language. “Lorgar has already denied that the seventeenth had any knowledge of the attack-”
“It's still his damned legion! He's responsible whether he likes it or not, and we're justified in taking our due if need be!” Abaddon's voice rises to a roar. A litany of voices rise in support, a few familiar ones mingling with others.
A low, guttural growl breaks the sound of agreement. “My brother's leash has been loosened for quite some time, but I will not hesitate to snap it taut if need be.” Horus's tired voice frames the sound of the two officers footsteps up the marble staircase leading up to the strategium. “Russ did the same to Angron at Ghenna, Gulliman to Lorgar at Khur. But these were sanctioned by the Emperor, and we have been told-” There's the snap of fingers.
“Further investigation of the situation is permitted, though censure may not be enacted without direct order of the Council of Terra.” The signals master continues the sentence as if just replacing the Lupercal's voice with his own, without so much as a gap.
“And thus we come to an impasse.” Horus sighs, “Abaddon's plan may well work, and those are not my father's words: his sigil appears nowhere in these orders. It comes from Valdor and the master of the Administratum. Even though my father is silent on the matter, we would face some reprisals. Though, it may well be worth it to snub his glorified page boy.” It gets more than a few derisive laughs.
The pair of officers reach the summit, and after a few glances back by a mass of line officers, the two are allowed entry to the inner ranks.
Abaddon slams his gauntlet on the hololithic projector, having occupied the center of the floor with dozens of other field commanders. The other three members of the mourneval stay at the foot of the raised dais surrounding the Lupercal's throne. “We're being hamstrung by scriveners and book keepers!" he shoves off the projector and turns, appealing to the astartes crowding around the perimeter of the room, "Who are they to question us?! Damn the consequences; we should take this to them with a blade, not to Terra with a missive! They can ignore a letter, but they damned well can't ignore our blade at their throat!” Again, calls of agreement come from the packs of Cthonic warriors crowded around the strategium's outer ring, crowding the immense upper deck of the flagship as a misty veil of red-lit stars pass them by in the silent void.
Horus's hooded glare rises from his imperious stare at the procession, and notes the two new arrivals. He forms a weak grin, beckoning them with a single gesture without ever rising from the throne. “Ah, Marr and Ahazzar, just who I wanted to see. Any news, my faithful Bloodhounds?”
Tybalt Marr slips into the inner circle, feeling the eyes of more than a hundred legion officers follow him. He swallows once, approaching the center as Abaddon's sanguine pallor melts into a glow of vicious anticipation. Marr pushes the edge of his indigo synthskin cloak aside, the crescent moon shimmering on its inner weave as he places a data spike into the hololith receptor.
“Less than I'd like.”
A detailed map of the Golgotha Wastes flares into wire-framed brilliance, bathing the Lupercal's court in a sharp viridian glow.
“The Hand of Fate is a lone ship but it is fast. Fire was exchanged between it and the Wolf of Cthonia near Lastratii, forcing our pursuit frigate to break off. By the time the Lupercal Pursuivant and Judicature arrived it had already slipped away, no doubt further into the wastes. We were harried by several Orkish raiders and lost them in the Maelstrom nebula's northern spiral arm. All indications are that they are not fleeing towards Colchis or even Anvillus, but rimward. We can't derive anything from their zig-zag course, and neither were our auguries or astropaths were able to discern a direction. It's like they simply disappeared.”
His crimson cloaked companion nods, offering a clipped nod to the Lupercal in fealty. The wiry north Afrik commander's hooded eyes traverses the familiar mass of warriors, “My Lord Lupercal, we are at a distinct disadvantage in speed, even if we outnumbered Erebus in both ships and displacement. The Orkish raiders were successfully dispatched, but we lost the Hand of Fate in the nebulae. He could be almost anywhere by now. There is little to do but keep a vigil, after all, there are precious few of the Cardinal-class heavy cruisers at the moment.”
“It's understandable, but not excusable.” Horus growls, looking back and forth between Marr and his slightly shorter accomplice. “Marshal, I will not pretend to be apathetic in this, he was within your grasp.” The abash warrior bows his head. “Look at me-” the marshal's head snaps up and he barely manages to hold the Lupercal's golden gaze. “I will not let this stand. Your battalion will continue the hunt with the Wolf of Cthonia , and you will not return to the fold until you find the Hand of Fate or Erebus himself. I will accept only his head or his hide, nothing less, unless I deem it prudent. You will continue into the Golgotha wastes as a task force, do you understand?”
“Yes, lord.” The Marshal bows his head again and strikes his chest with a clenched fist before taking a step back, quickly retreating to the outer circle of legion commanders.
Horus looks over Marr, sparing Abaddon and Aximand a glance each before nodding and making a lethargic gesture for Marr to approach. “It was a difficult task but I was expecting that my new envoy could manage it.”
Seeing the blink of surprise and confusion cross Marr's face, then the rest of the mourneval, save Torgaddon who stands with one foot propped on a dais with his plumed helmet on his knee.
“It is not a time of congratulations, this is a time for action, Captain Marr.” Horus waves him over to his left to a spot just a little further out than Torgaddon and Loken.
“So, what are we to do about this now, Commander?” Luc Sedirae pips up, leaning on the railing near the stairwell right next to Targost, the grizzled assault captain looks worse for wear as his skeletal bionic hand clutches at the rail. “Seems we have lots of opportunities.” he makes a whirling gesture at the wireframe hololith projection. “Help Ahazaar's 'illustrious' Cerberus battalion in clearing out a few greenskins in Golgotha, or do we finally answer the summons and head into the Auritian hornets nest?” Despite the mocking derision to his comrades second-rate task force, Sedirae's wolfish grin morphs into the sickly smile of a bloodthirsty shark.
“While entirely possible, my brothers are both dealing with the Auritian situation. Maloghurst, how long will it take to deploy the fleet and arrive in the Auritian Hegemony?” Horus looks to his equerry.
Maloghurst the Twisted looks up, hand still on his walking cane, breaths hissing out through a rebreather mask over his scarred face. “Eleven weeks, three days. Time enough that Fulgrim and Angron may well have the matter resolved.”
But the Lupercal slowly pans his gaze to Garviel Loken, the steadfast 10th company captain on his left next to Tarik. “And what would you say, Garviel?”
Sensing his master's gaze on him, Loken focuses squarely on the hololith display as it flashes from Golgotha to a bright swirling star cluster. A complex miasma of red and green arrows overlaying data points, sparkle to life in a flickering ribbon across the star systems. “Sir, if I had to guess, I'd say that the forces arrayed are enough to handle the entirety of the Auritian operation. It may take time, potentially several months, but our presence may well represent a waste of time and resources that I feel we could use elsewhere.”
“Like parading around the boundaries of pacified space?” Abaddon interjects. “We're headed away from Colchis, we're headed away from Davin, we're headed away from Erebus, so where are we headed too ?!” The First Captain shoots a quick overt look of irritation at Horus himself, though Aximand at Horus's side merely wrinkles his nose and elevates his gaze.
Sensing no support, but hearing no argument against him, the First Captain looks around the circle of officers as he repeatedly clenches his hand into a tight fist, “What are we doing? Davin is dead -”
“Which we are certain to be called to account for.” Iacton Qruze airily replies from only a few feet away, never meeting the First Captain's steely glare.
“Don't you start that again, Iacton! If we did nothing, we're weak. If we did something, we overstep our bounds. We were damned either way, but when they try to bring us to our knees then we'll cut theirs out from under them. Is that not right, Half-heard?” He turns, using his size to stalk up, chest to chest with the elderly warrior.
But the wispy haired elder turns his weathered face up, peering at Abaddon like a disappointed school teacher. “If we act without clarity, we act without knowing how they can strike us. After all, if more than Erebus were involved, then we may be presenting them more opportunity to strike.”
“Harden our fleets, be ready for any enemy. Any. Enemy. Iacton.” Abaddon points around the room, “We know Erebus, so now we know what to look for. What he did was impossible, so something happened... obviously something happened!”
Serghar Targost takes that opportunity to unclasps the rail and push himself forward into the spotlight, “Yes, and at this point, we don't know who is involved or how far it goes. That means we should be wary of all outside influence. From any source. I say we should question our prisoner more thoroughly, extract what we need, then we can perhaps trace this back to some genesis. All of this has the mark of a Xeno power-play. It wouldn't surprise me if this is the start to a second Rangdan. Commander,” Targost looks up to Horus, approaching a few more feet to stand out in the open of the round, bathed in a viridian glow. “I implore you, strike the enemy now without mercy and ignore the petty mumbled complaints about Davin. This is obviously trickery, and I'd bet my rank that Xenos are involved. We should not be bound, or held, or counselled by anyone outside the legion.”
“This edges close to treason, Serghar.” Iacton mutters darkly, getting a few scoffs from other Cthonic commanders.
“It's true. That's insubordination, Targost." Loken's voice enters the rapidly degenerating arena of voices, "Valdor may be pompous, but he is the voice of the Emperor, beloved by all. Thus, what Valdor says is law.”
“Valdor is a lap dog, Horus said it himself, there's no insignia of the Emperor anywhere near that communique.” Abaddon snorts like a bull before turning to Horus, “Ignore him.”
Aximand picks up the cry, talking over Iacton who takes a step towards Targost, “My lord Commander, the Emperor would surely understand our plight when it's explained to him. But we may lose Erebus's trail if we don't act swiftly.”
“We'll look like we're flailing around in the dark, Little Horus. It'll be a pretty pathetic sight when someone flicks on the lights and finds we're fighting imaginary ghosts. And that's what'll happen if we set off and don't even know where we're headed.” Torgaddon shrugs, getting a low growl in reply from his fellow mourneval captain.
Marr stays silent, shooting a glance over towards Horus who slumps back further in his chair as the argument erupts into a chorus of competing voices drawing lines.
The Warmaster was still a resplendent figure, bedecked in his white ceremonial armor newly fixed with lapping powder and polished to a pearlescent gleam. His charcoal rogarou pelt atop him still seemed to gaze over the legion's officers through its cut glass eyes. But for all the world, Horus Lupercal looked tired. For 'the Lord of Man who conquered death' that was proclaimed in the months after Davin, he was far from his effervescent self.
Marr catches the slight up twist of his lips as he mouths a single sentence, 'Luna'.
But something else pricks the captain's ears; the voice of Serghar Targost, though he keyed in on just one word, “-horse, I've never heard something so damned ridiculous! It's part of this, all of it!”
“And you are absolutely sure of that, more sure than the Commander?” Iacton's voice barely rises to an audible level over the din.
“Enough. ” Horus's stern rumbles like a landslide over the assembly, silencing them all even if it wasn't some predatory roar. The Lupercal merely massages his eyelids and slowly draws in a steady breath, though Marr was sure he caught a nearly imperceptible twitch as Horus stretched his left shoulder.
“-Because you have no stomach for it anymore, Tarik!” Sedirae's trailing shout is the last thing that drifts out over the Lupercal's court. It does draw the most stares from the others, as well. But Torgaddon just points a finger at his own chest, making a face that asked 'who, me?' then glances back at Horus with a dismissive shrug.
“This is getting us nowhere.” Horus grumbles, slowly rising from his throne, “We are already embarked on an important journey, and I will not be dissuaded by Erebus. One man is not worth a legion-”
“Then let me find and kill him.” Abaddon implores, “If not for us, then for Vaddon, for Heskar, and for the hundreds of others of us that he had murdered.”
“Haven't you killed enough to sate your bloodlust, Ezekyle?” Loken looks across the dais, “See sense: we can't kill him if we don't know where he is, and splitting a whole legion up isn't a good use of our resources. A thousand troops here, five hundred there, spread over how many segmentum? It's just not feasible when we're talking about fighting 'them'.” Loken's voice did choke audibly when he had to mention their foe, unable to give life to the unnatural act of trying to kill another astartes.
“So you'd let him get away?” Sedirae spits back from across the round, only to get a sharp glare from Horus as he steps down onto the strategium round.
“We're not forgetting anyone." The primarch begins, voice booming across the assembly, "I am not forgetting anyone. But Garviel and Iacton are right, we need a plan and we need a target. We cannot flail madly in the dark, and likewise, one man could never have pulled this plan from thin air. No, there's something more to this. Something more, foul. We are headed to a destination to find answers, and I will not say what it is. It's not that I distrust you,” Horus's gaze falls upon the wrathful face of Abaddon, his melancholic son Aximand, then the loyal and personable Loken and Torgaddon, “I have faith and trust in you, all. I trust you more than I trust these walls, and unlike my father, my little secrets aren't done in a shady back lab guarded by a simpering golden retriever.”
The image at least brings a few suppressed cackles from the assembly, and even a sardonic grin from Abaddon.
“I've surrounded myself with true wolves. And I could not be any more proud of you, my sons.” The prideful grins that mark each and every one of the legion officers was evident. At least, all but one. Horus crosses over to the far group, clasping a hand on the chastened marshal that had arrived with Marr, “Even you.” getting a thankful, if perhaps pained, smile from the war leader.
“No,” Horus continues, “I'm not keeping anything back from you because I lack trust in my sons, but because something has bothered me about this place." The primarch glances errantly around the strategium, glimpsing into the darkened corners far above, even to the stanchions holding the glasteel panes that overlooked the void. Horus's voice slips to a stage whisper, something meant for all his officers though framed more like a monologue, "Something makes me uneasy, yet, I cannot put my finger on it. But I will, in time. And I'm sure Erebus is to blame.”
The Lupercal wanders back into the ground, hands behind his back. “We need answers. We need allies in the days to come. And we need a plan. Fortunately, we will have them. But it will take time for everything to fall into place. But it shall, and we will have an end to it.”
“Commander,” The master of signals looks up, a shock of emerging confusion written across his pale Terran features. “We have a priority message for you, relayed from Terra.”
The Lupercal sighs, looking up before giving the astartes a shallow nod, “Go on.”
“It's an edict of censure,” the officer starts, seeing Horus's nod of approval, “condemning Magnus.”
Horus spins on his heels, surging across the round as swift as a cobra to snatch the signals officer by the gorget. With an effortless heave, the Terran is pulled upwards, dangling a full half a meter above the deck as he's brought practically nose to nose with the primarch. Horus's manic golden eyes blaze with a flickering intensity as he bares his teeth.
“Say that again.”
Chapter 3: Of Chance and Choices
“Commander, this has to be a mista-” Marr's protest is cut off with a sharp 'quiet' gesture from the Lupercal. Falling into an obedient silence, the pair make their way down the halls, Marr watching the tails of the Lupercal's purple synthskin cloak swaying as's forced to awkwardly hustle to keep pace with his lord's longer strides.
As they walked past the ten terminator wardens and back towards the Lupercal's personal quarters behind the strategium, nothing outwardly looked out of place. But even a cursory moment let Marr detect the creak of a dataslate straining against monumental pressure. The Lupercal clamps his grip on the simple grey tablet as they turn the corner away from the ever-watching wardens.
“This,” Horus waggles the dataslate in front of Marr's face. “This needs to be confirmed. I can not, and will not, accept something so coincidental. I send a message to Prospero, and a week later, this arrives from Terra? Magnus may not know when to restrain himself, but he is no idiot sorcerer. An optimist, careless, and resoundingly ignorant of what's in the hearts of men: yes. But there are few of my brothers who mean better for mankind than he.”
“So, something from Erebus? Maybe it's more falsified reports?” Marr continues alone next to the primarch as they enter a typical grey hall of the officers quarters on their way to the Lupercal's quarters.
“Or blackmail of some sort, if this is even true.” A glower darkens the primarch's features, “I will not overturn my plans based on empty rumours.”
Both lapse into silence, the sound of their footsteps resonating on durasteel deck cladding as they approach a pair of the Spirit's wardens protecting the officers halls. But not for a moment does Marr miss the sound of cracking crystal. The pressure from Horus's fingertips send sharp spider cracks across the dataslate's surface as he lets out a fraction of his growing frustration.
Passing by, they arrive at the great golden doors of the Primarch's quarters, the so-called Wolf's Den. Unlike so many other art-deco surfaces splashed across the Vengeful Spirit , the door had just a carved Eye of Terra embossed over the faint acid etchings of the Cthonian star system.
Without comment, Horus presses his palm to the reader, and after a moment, the doors scrape open with a thump of equalizing pressure. The coolness that washes out from the room makes Marr's eyes squint. It wasn't a freezer, but it was chilly compared to the legion cells and Spirit's crew quarters. He'd never been here, few outside the mourneval ever had.
Inside was strange. It was no stateroom of Europan nobility, but not so undressed as something he'd expect from the Scions of Medusa or Olympia. Instead, it was a large functional space mostly dominated by a large open nave at the centre and separate quadrants: star charts and drawings clutter wide desk spanning almost a third of the ten meter round. Another has trophies levitating in lines of gravitic stasis fields arranged in a stepped series of rows reminiscent of Cthonic columnar joining formations that stud the surface of the ruined world. The hexagonal plates each displace a soft blue field underlighting dozens of artifacts from rings and ancient daggers, to scrolls and relatively new looking medallions. It was a small sanctuary very different from the pomp of the Lupercal's Court.
Summoning Marr over, the Lupercal places the dataslate down on a tablet strewn desk before peeling off his gauntlets. “You have questions that you didn't want others to hear, ask them.”
Snapped out of his stupor, Marr stands at attention, eyes straight ahead and fixed on the star charts at the other end of the room... they were of Ultramar's outreamer rim. “Lord-”
“Tybalt, in private, skip the formalities. If I insisted on honorifics in the confidence of my officers, I'd never get out of the strategium.” he sighs, unfixing the rogarou pelt and casting it on the wide slab-like bedspread as he stands in front of an arming mannequin; two are present for aging sets of artificer armor while a far larger metal scaffolding is evidently meant for his terminator plate.
“S-sir. Of course.” he takes a shaking breath, “Horus, why did you pick me as your envoy? You already have Maloghurst. This is going to cause problems.”
“Yes I do have Mal.” Horus continues, leaving Marr to stand in the entrance of the chamber. “But you are very well aware of what happened on Sixty-Three Nineteen.” The chill that entered his voice more than matched the cold of the chamber, even though the captains breath approaches the brink of misting in the air.
“Yes sir.”
“Let me be clear: you will never replace Sejanus.” Horus hesitates for a moment as he unbuckles the clasp for his cloak. “No one can.” A fleeting moment later, it's swirled onto a nearby pair of silver spikes. But Marr catches the momentary flinch as the primarchs left arm rotates. It was the uncomfortable reminder of the impossible: an unseen injury that hasn't healed in months.
Seemingly oblivious to the look of concern from his captain, Horus continues unbroken, “But I need someone that will represent me, and by extension, our legion. Maloghurst is an excellent diplomat, but think of it this way with just a thread of human vanity: is Maloghurst the face you want to present to outsiders? He is my voice within the legion, yes. I need someone to be my voice to others. I need my mourneval by my side, and Sedirae is too bloodthirsty and impulsive to do anything but get us involved in even more conflicts. I could go down a list of officers, but let me remind you, I do not need to justify myself to anyone, Tybalt. Not to you, not to Abaddon, not to my brothers. I do so at my leisure. But I will say that, given you weren't part of the warrior lodge, I'm more incline to let you out of my sight to run errands.”
The line captain shuffles a little awkwardly, glancing over at the primarch who had the upper portion of his armor off and hung on the mounting racks. “Yes, Horus. But-”
“Besides, I'd have thought the main reason would be obvious.” His chortle emerges as a rolling gravely sound, completely devoid of mirth. Scooping up the rogarou pelt, the primarch flings it across his broad shoulders, draping over a simple grey dress tunic. Stalking up to Marr, the captain nearly flinches from the resolute stride, but a weak smile cracks the Lupercal's lips as he reaches out to clasp the captain's right bracer. Holding it up, he exposes the silver inlay where a crescent moon had been carved just before the assault on Davin's Delphos temple. In a moment, a conspiratorial tone had replaced the warlord's usual vigor, “Because we both know something no one else will accept.”
The Lupercal's nail taps the scarred metal sigil and its silver filling, leaving his answer otherwise unsaid. “Abaddon is ignoring what I said until he can think of why I said it.” Horus sighs, releasing the captain and pacing towards the multitude of star charts with his hands folded behind his back, “though he's more dogged about this than I expected. He will not like the answer when he gets it. Neither will Aximand, though I believe he thinks I was merely senseless at the time. Loken will ask others like iterator Sindermann, he will delve in and study, and he won't push the point until he has a conclusion. He will not get it, either. And Tarik is too... Tarik.”
Still all but fused in place, the captain taps his teeth in thought before tilting his chin down to study the Lupercal as he pores over the star charts. “Forgive me, but have you considered that they might be right?”
The primarch glances over his shoulder, but shows little to betray his thoughts. Instead, he scratches his chin before dragging his fingers through the faint trace of the hairline starting to grow on his smooth scalp. “Of course. But this, this and Magnus, the Glory of Terra , Erebus, and whatever else, it cannot be coincidence. Can you not feel it, Tybalt?” Horus's breathing slows, an evident effort to build a dramatic mystique. He paces before the banks of star charts, reaching up with reverence to trace a hand along a number of systems. “It's not coincidence, it's confluence." The primarchs voice rises and falls as if giving true insight into the heart of a man, and not the symbol of Imperial power. "Everything is converging on this one point, and it's clear to me, now. A choice, no matter which one, marks the end of something and the beginning of something else. They know it, I now it, Magnus knew it, too.” His hand spans the stars before clutching at one system, something Marr has to squint at to see the elaborately labelled title.
Manatax.
The primarch rounds suddenly, catching his captain off guard and fixing him with his piercing golden stare, “I don't believe in coincidence. Fate is made by men. Those that blunder into it and call it chance are those who haven't seen the effort put into making it reality. I will not be a pawn, Horus Lupercal will not be used. Not by Erebus, not by the nobles of Terra-” his voice falls to a nearly inaudible whisper, “Not even by Him.”
Shocked, Tybalt can only stare as his commander scoops up the cracked dataslate and stares down, pacing the perimeter of the room in steady, measured steps. “This is something I should have the answer too, but I don't. To say that things go on just as before, is to say chance and coincidence exists to absolve us of our actions and choices.”
“I couldn't tell you, Horus. I'd like to think coincidence does exist. Or else, Verelum-” He trails off for a moment, a reflexive twitch in his cheek at recalling his lost brother-in-arms. “Verelum was chosen and I wasn't. It was the luck of the draw, nothing more... or else I should be dead, and he should be alive. That. The Glory of Terra . Davin... why couldn't it be just chance?”
“Convenience.” Horus's sharp response catches the captain wrong footed again, and his eyes blink, silently pleading for an explanation. And, perhaps, something more.
Seeing the question, Horus gestures with the dataslate, “It's all too convenient. There was a plan. They knew how to goad me. They knew how to bait us into a fight. There is no force in this galaxy that this legion, my legion, couldn't put to the sword if we committed to it. Despite Gullimans numbers, my father's ten thousand, Kelbor Hal's mythic machine-men: we could shatter any one of them in weeks. This... this was the only way to get us. And do not discount yourself. You are evidently important, too. Even if that means Verelum Moy was made a sacrifice to make it so. All things have a rhyme and reason, and once made known, they will bend to my will. That, Tybalt, is why I suspect that this-” he waggles the dataslate and then tosses it back to Marr, who clumsily catches the device. “-is no accident, either.”
Right or wrong, an indignation seizes the captain as he juts out his chin “Then, should we have destroyed Davin? Maybe there were answers there.”
The primarch's verve drains, his motions becoming less animate. Instead, he sighs as if deflating before turning again to regard the star charts. He meticulously inspects the static convoluted display as if searching them for an answer, “It was necessary to restore faith.”
“In us?”
Horus draws in a long deep breath, leaving the answer unsaid as he breathes out into the open air. “Better for me to be questioned for recklessness than shamed for indecision. There will be questions, and we have enough evidence that passes for justification, if perhaps not true answers.”
As if the dataslate toss had finally broken his golem-like petrification, the captain looks over the ledger and brings it back to life. The cracked screen did little to hinder its operation where four points of pressure made lightning-bolt like cracks through the surface. The message was just as it was before, short and clipped, routed through a half-dozen junctions across Segmentum Solar and past the nav-relay buoys that had been set up in the wake of the expeditionary fleets.
Thumbing through it, Marr glimpses other communiques bundled with the dispatch: several are from bureaucrat adepts reminding legion garrison commanders to set up census routes for newly compliant systems, another two are from the forgeworld of Anvillus regarding logisticae personnel, and more regarding the unfolding efforts against the Auritian technocracy.
But Horus was already talking again, his voice settling into a diatribe while Marr parses out something in the later communiques. “I know you're thinking it, everyone is: why did I recall your forces?”
“It did cross my mind, sir. Then you sent the marshals back out.” Marr confesses before reading several passages over, each written by a Lord Commander of the Emperors Children detailing confusing complaints.
“I said I will not be a pawn, but I will have my pieces in play beyond the reach of others.” the primarchs wolfish grin appears as a thin crack when he glances over his shoulder, “You didn't think I'd let one of my commanders off with just a little warning if they displeased me, did you?” He scoffs. “Now, I have a question for you: you haven't spoken any further with our mutual acquaintance, have you?”
At that, Marr's head shoots up to look at the Lupercal, the dataslate all but forgotten. “No, no, nothing like that. I would have told you.”
“Hmm... as I figured.” Horus sighs, eyes focusing on the charts as his voice slips back into a stage whisper, “No matter. Not yet.” he holds up a hand to indicate no more, realizing full well that he was guarded even here. “Marr, see to it that the Magnus communique is double-checked, personally.”
The smell of lapping powder, stale sweat, and machine oil wafts through the air as surely as the sound of the lifts doors. A band of lumin orbs flicker to light with an electric hum, illuminating the previously dark expanse, exposing the wide open chamber in the bowels of the Vengeful Spirit beneath the astartes' berths.
“It's stupid, absolutely insane. It's idiocy, and it's promoted by an idiot.” Abaddon's gruff snarl barks as soon as the doors had opened a crack. Four astartes stamp down as the retractable railings slide into the floor, laying flush with the metal paneling.
“He's popular now because he was the only one in a position to retake the bridge, nothing more. It'll pass, just like before.” Targost huffs, looking up at the taller First Captain as they shuffle out into the chilly expanse as strips of lumins high overhead flicker to life in three rows to illuminate the room in stark monochromatic glory.
The edges still swim in black shadows, while the edges of the support struts and stanchions holding practice cages and racks of weapons, are reflecting in brilliant relief by the sodium orbs.
“He'll do something to get himself tossed out of favor, just like always.” Sedirae says from behind the pair, like the trailing dog. A forth figure remains silent next to him, cloak still affixed around his shoulders while it had been discarded by others. Horus Aximand remains behind Abaddon, silent as his shadow.
“That's because Maloghurst tried to downplay his council in the past, I doubt he will this time.” Abaddon mutters.
“Not when he's been tossed in with us as some kind of... dissenter.” Targost seethes, tramping out from the lift. “He got lucky, I gave him that damned pistol he's so proud of, and what did I get for it?” he holds up the bionic hand that flexes noisily. “Something of a reminder, then patronized from the sidelines.”
“Be mindful of what you imply, captain.” Horus Aximand sighs. “The Commander knows what he's doing.”
“Not if he's not talking plainly with us, Little Horus.” Targost bitterly bites back, turning to face the taller shaven-headed mourneval captain. “The Glory of Terra was a fiasco because we couldn't communicate with him, and he didn't communicate with us. We lost officers and a lot of legionnaires when we didn't need to. We should have just shelled it from orbit, then let the titans tear it apart.”
“We could never have seen something like that coming. It's unheard of-” Aximand replies, not backing down but not becoming nearly as animated as the slightly shorter assault captain. “How could we? Just like how could we know that the lodge that Erebus convinced us was safe, was full of those things .” he stresses the last word with a sickly twitch of his lips like it was sour to speak.
Abaddon steps away from the group, straight towards the first practice cage while peeling off his armor. It settles on a square bench surrounding a massive support stanchion just off the main center. Sedirae follows him quickly, having gone uncharacteristically quiet the moment the Glory of Terra was brought up.
Targost doesn't relent, lingering alongside Aximand, “Yet he's treating us like we did!”
“No. The Commander distrusts something here, and after our security protocols were breached, who can blame him? Who's ever heard of an astartes commander and a battle company going rogue like that?”
“No one.” Abaddon looks back over his shoulder, having torn off his cuirass before letting it fall to the bench. “No one has.”
“Exactly!” Targost looks back and forth between Aximand and Abaddon, “that's my point. There has to be something worse behind this, something xeno, it has to be something like that. It's like Rangdan-”
“The Rangdan xenocides was over a century ago and clear across the galaxy. This is nothing like Rangdan.” Aximand mutters.
“it's exactly like Rangdan!” Targost presses as Sedirae remains unnervingly quiet, though he does get a glance from his friend for a moment. “The delusions, the sudden disappearances, the seemingly impossible coming to life? We cannot become compromised by a xeno effort, Aximand.”
“Agreed.” echoes Luc Sedirae in a laconic manner that gets even Aximand to glance his way. Put into the spotlight as he strips out of his armor, he glances to and fro. “What? Something like a mind-controlling bug makes more sense than Erebus turning on us out of the blue.”
“Ezekyle,” Aximand calls as his friend and fellow mourneval captain stalks to one of the weapon racks to look over the selection of arms. “Ezekyle, we can't make more rash choices. It's what got us into this, we should never have taken the Commander into that temple. It's on us. Serghar, for Unity's sake, you called for the vote!” Aximand's voice rises, finally breaking into the unsureness as he glances back and forth between his companions in fugitive spasms.
“No, Erebus called for the idea first. I just allowed it.” Targost replies before saying, “come on. You saw what was down there. Tell me that mind control from xenos doesn't make sense. The Davinites were already a hairsbredth from aliens, they were't real humans... not really.” The captain presses and nods to Abaddon. “And didn't you say Horus was acting strange when you found him?”
“Serghar.” Abaddon looks over his bare shoulder and drags a dull metal great-blade from the arming rack with a rasp. “If you're going to even hint that the Commander is somehow compromised, I'll finish what the Word Bearer couldn't and beat you to death with this.”
The assault captain's insistence falters for a moment, taking a fraction of a step less than Aximand who nods his support for the First Captain.
“But he was acting a little strange. We should be going for Colchis, we should be trying to seize them by the throat and take what we need. I mean, if it just so happens that Serghar's right, then it'll spread. We can't let that happen. So we should be finding a way to drag Erebus out of hiding. Though Lorgar has to pay for not paying attention in the first place.” Abaddon mutters perhaps more sedately than normal, spinning the massive six-feet of blunted steel in one hand making a warbling thrum as it awkwardly cuts the air.
“Ezekyle,” Luc pipes up, now free from the confines of his armored plate and keeping on only the tight fitting undershirt. “What was it that you said Horus told you to get?” He hop skips to the arming rack and swiftly pulls a pair of curved metal charnebal sabers from the mix.
“A horse. A winged horse.” Abaddon remarks, making his way almost lazily towards the practice cage with the massive great blade still whirring in a figure eight. “A winged horse that can talk.”
“Something he said he, what? Met, talked too?” Targost inquires again.
But at that, Abaddon merely shrugs. Sedirae takes the pair of blades and hustles over to Abaddon, following over to the practice cage. “He's getting awful chummy with Tybalt Marr these days. Didn't see the envoy status coming, not for screwing up an operation like that.”
With an irritated sigh, Aximand finds his way to the bench but doesn't shift to remove his armor or even his cloak. “Serghar, I know you're South-pit-”
“Scum!” Luc laughs a bit, flashing a more feral grin at the interruption as he and Abaddon enter one of the enormous cages.
“... yes, anyway, I know that you're South-pit, but Horus grew up on the North Plate. Equines were a thing there, tell him Ezekyle.” Aximand gestures with a simple head bob, directing their attention.
Taking up a stance on the far side of the ring, the towering figure of Abaddon seems almost locked in a simple rhythmic exercise of spinning the blade. It stops suddenly, upright in one hand, and the pale Cthonian glances to meet Serghar's gaze. “He's right. They were part of some of the old rich mining houses and a few of the guilds, House Tartarus, something like that. Pit ponies.” With a nod to Sedirae, he readies himself while the other swordsmen licks his lips and finds a more hunched and aggressive posture, waiting for the signal.
Aximand takes up where Abaddon left off, “They're supposed to be some extinct animal originally brought over, then gene-bred to be capable of doing an enormous amount of work for their size. Strong, dependable, they got turned into a symbol of effort and hard honest work." He lapses into silence, an oddly distant glow appearing on his features as if he were no longer there. "By the end, they were just little status symbols, richer's pets." Aximand blinks, green eyes once again reawoken as he looks up, "If the Commander said something about one, it might be that he's looking for some of us that are willing to go to the extra effort. It's why none of the mourneval was chosen, it might be why Marr was.”
Targost blinks a few times, mulling it over as he takes a seat on the bench as a small white flash flickers from the top of the cage. Like lightning, Abaddon's blade sweeps out in a decapitating strike only to be parried away by both slashing sabers. Sedirae's quick slicing sweeps sets the First Captain on a path to sidestep and thrust down, trying to catch and fling a blade free. He was certainly stronger and more heavily built than his lithe opponent, not to mention almost a foot taller. But the blond-haired Luc kept his open mouthed shark-like grin as he lunges and slashes, bringing back memories of Cthonia's dark hollows and murderous underhives.
“If you think that's all there is too it, Aximand,” Serghar says quietly enough that it was nearly impossible to hear over the clamor of clashing steel, “explain why he doesn't trust the ship or anyone on it. Something's here, some pest, a xeno presence I have no doubt. It'll get worse.” He taps his teeth together, muttering, “Davin wounded him. It died for it, but it still did more than nearly two hundred years of fighting. I'm not embarrassed that he chose some horse to be a symbol, it's no different than Sanguinius's lion pelt, his rogarou, or Abaddon's parade garb. But he wanted a live one, to the exclusion of all else. And he expected to find it here... not everything is as it seems, Aximand. Remember that.”
The mourneval captain remains seated next to him, still dressed in his ceremonial garb from the recent meeting, eyes following the match in progress. “Leman-” Aximand starts, then thinks better of it. Biting his lips, something flashes across his mind that remains unsaid.
Targost just looks over to regard the captain for a moment. With a short sigh, he pats the captain's shoulder. “I wish we could talk about this like we did in the lodge. But it's... gone, now. I still hope I can talk with you in confidence, my friend. After all, I know I an count on you. You know why we're fighting this war, after all.” A quiet pat, and he goes back to watching as Abaddon's cleaving hammerstrike snaps one of Sedirae's sabers in half.
“All we have to do is find Erebus then.” Aximand says perhaps a little more composed and reserved than moments before.
“That's it.” Targost grins as he watches with a smirk. “Abaddon's got him in five.”
Aximand holds up three fingers. And a moment later, smiles as the match concludes.
'Oh buck oh buck ooooooooh bucking Tartarus!'
The simple pale oak doors rock open, its hinges groan and seem to wobble as they warp inwards. The click-puff of camera flashbulbs from the wall of photographers and hastily shouted questions don't elicit a peep from the trio of ponies that trot into the room set off in a normally quiet corner of the courthouse. Moondancer gulps down some more saliva that had been practically absent in the last few screaming minutes of 'The Interview'. The breath practically whistling through her straining teeth isn't really conducive to getting her calmed down, either.
'Please don't explode or immolate, Stars above, please please pleaaaaaaaase.'
One of the cameraponies mutters, “Hey isn't that that Moonprancer mare?” In response, she flicks her tail in irritation just as another flash and camera whine reflects off her glasses... now she's stuck worrying about a nearly smouldering princess and hoping she didn't flash the photographer back.
Moondancer uncomfortably shuffles after the Princess of the Night. Despite the air of almost unnatural gloom mingled with a heaviness as oppressive as a black hole, there was a certain light nearly spilling from the princess's whipping mane. Between the comet-like streaks in her nebulous mass of hair and what looked like a blot of blacklight almost silhouetting the regal mare, it was pretty fair to guess she wasn't having a great day.
It would be a good guess, even without having heard the previous hours of questioning.
The Alicorn's every muscle seems to tense in some rhythmic spasm that let her at least keep walking, though her wings were a flickering mess of flitting and ruffled pinions extending in spastic twitches. Her movements are quick and deliberate, each step coming down with more force than strictly necessary. But nothing was so grotesque as the bulging veins in her neck and the clenched jaw that genuinely hurt to look at.
“Princess,” Moondancer squeaks out. “It's not you, they're just doing what they normally do. It's an academic thing and now they, uh, they have a new project that's in their hooves. It's just sorta what they run to when they find something new. I mean, without Princess Celestia's endorsement-”
Luna hisses a sharp warning as she whips her head back around at an angle just short of spine-cracking, her visible eye red-veined and twitching.
There was no reply to that, just a deep prey-instinct that said her natural 'flight' instinct was worthless and 'fight' was hilariously hopeless. She had a better chance bursting a blood vessel in her horn from standing behind the princess than she did actually doing anything about an irate Alicorn. But, if she didn't think and didn't breathe she might escape notice like the oversized pony-shaped amoeba she was. At least, she was compared to the millennia old princess of unlimited cosmic power.
More camera flashes bathe the small enclosure in stark relief, illuminating the sharp silhouettes of the four Night Guard ponies that take up a position outside the door. They swiftly form a neat line between Luna, Sunset, and herself, and the milling crowd and reporters, only for the door to be caught in a cyan glow and slammed by the Princess's arcane might.
The second resonant bang is just as loud as the first, and Moondancer's scampering movements bring her careening into Sunset's flank, nearly knocking the second mare off-balance.
“How dare they!” Luna huffs, puffing her chest out. “Petulant, pretentious, pontificating ponies! Is this where Sister's guidance has led? Two overcompensating stallions and a few meat-headed mares that believe they know best for Equestria? Now, at the very moment Equestria sorely needs decisive decisions, this council chooses to rear their worthless heads?" She snorts, "We spent years dismantling the petty quarrels of the queens and kings of old, only to find it alive and well under sister's nose.”
“Princess,” Sunset sighs, “We should probably keep it down. The last thing we need is some newspaper ponies overhearing what we're all thinking.”
“Those arrogant, simpering foals! They would tell Us that We should be more open about our plans? To let THEM decide what to do about magical relics? Before their wet-behind-the-ears servants informed them, they were oblivious to its very existence!” Luna's wet snarl bleeds an air of predatory menace, full of vitriol and indignation.
“Princess.” Sunset replies a little louder.
“All the work, all the secrecy to keep them safe from the creatures of Old Night, and they have the sheer gall to insist that WE are keeping secrets with which they should have been informed?!” The princess scoffs, choking back as she wheels on the spot, glaring blankly at the lush gauzy white drapes accenting the cheery sky blue curtains. Despite the warm accents framing the bright floor lamps that illuminate the vaulted room, there was nothing pleasant about the mood. Luna pointedly ignores the cheery springtime decor, and with her barely restrained stride and oppressive aura, so does everypony else. The princess of the night eyes a standing lamp, as if she were deciding whether to vent her frustrations on the furnishing or let it see another dawn. Folding her ears back, she turns away, “They should be pleased that we humor them at all. 'Thank you for appearing as summoned,' indeed!”
“Princess, is this actually helping?” Sunset keeps her place only a few paces from the guarded doorway. The Unicorn looks to Moondancer.
'Don't look at me, filly!' She was just trying to keep her lower lip from trembling.
Sunset's eyes roll as she takes in the room for a moment, then closes her eyes. With a flash, a glimmer of emerald magic coats the interior of the room. Moondancer knew it was likely a sound dampening spell, though it was probably too late for full damage control.
The gloomy Alicorn's very presence seems to mute the colours and dim the lights in a lavender shroud, “All of this is to keep them safe! If this is sister's will, to relegate the health and wellness of the ponies of Our lands to the idiotic, the unenlightened, and the self serving...” The rest of the thought goes unsaid, ended with a sharp snort. She doesn't see Sunset's eyes widen as she casts another fugitive glance at Moondancer.
Not that she had anything to say, her mouth had run as dry as the San Palamino desert hours ago.
Both Unicorns stay silent as their princess's face swiftly contorts back into a mask of anger. Her lips peel back, showing a row of pearl white equine teeth clenched with a pulse in her jaw from straining muscles. With a dismissive huff, she rears her head back, “Do pray tell, hath they bled for the common pony? Hath they sacrificed their estates and wealth? By what right canst they hitherto claim to make decisions and haul Us around by Our ears like a spoiled filly!” She growls, looking straight up from her position in the middle of the round room, spotting the Celestial sun sigil painted on the ceiling.
A quiet whisper passes the princess's lips just loud enough to be heard, “Do you have to deal with such foalish notions? How would you solve this?”
Her eyes close slowly, as if seeking serenity. But the tremors running through her wings and hooves don't disappear. Still, Luna stands in the center of the simple uninspired room, as if waiting for some gesture of divine providence to settle on her withers.
“Luna.” Sunset asks, edging closer towards the suddenly silent Alicorn. The slip into her old ponish cadence was a worry for everypony present.
The princess's lips curl at the edge into a mirthless grin. The low chortle starts as a rumble, deep and throaty from deep within her chest. Moondancer's simpering in the face of the mirthless cackle probably was intended to form a response at some point, but aside from a breathy squeak, nothing makes it past her lips.
“LUNA!” Sunset barks sharply, finally catching the Alicorn's attention. Her eyes blink open. “Please!”
Luna turns, wings flaring out to arc high above her head in a very noticeable threat display. Or, at least, partially. The right feathered limb stretches out like a half moon, the left merely seems to twitch and unfold with a few flaps before slowly stretching into a far weaker crescent. Despite the weakened display, the princess circles back at the centre of the open family room. She had a lot of space, it was meant for larger herds to gather themselves for more upsetting cases brought to the royal court.
“Luna, please.” Sunset whispers, standing up as tall as the Unicorn could. Her chest stays fluffed out, the little Knight of the Moon medallion prominently parting her golden yellow tuft. “Please... we need to decide what to do.”
Luna's eyes descend to the little charm, and even Sunset's eyes stay widened as Moondancer notices a little quiver in her legs. Luna's low breathy sigh seems like the sign to let Sunset deflate. The Unicorn mare lets out a deep gasp of a breath she'd been holding in.
“Thou art correct, Empathy.” Luna looks away and flutters her wings before folding them against her barrel with a displeased harrumph.
'Okay, okay, breathe filly.' Moondancer repeats like a mantra to herself. She inhales sharply but gets only a rasping sound as a gob of saliva in her cheek sucks back through into her lungs.
The two other ponies stiffen suddenly as a gasping hack and rolling cough directs their attention straight at the one mare who wanted to avoid the whole situation. Moondancer's entire body quakes as a series of coughs wracks her lungs, making her the unwitting center of attention. Her eyes get bleary as she hacks and coughs, feeling tears gather in the corners of her eyes as she hears the paltry wheezing hiss.
“Magi?” Luna asks as Sunset merely takes a few steps back so she can thump a hoof on Moondancer's withers. Of course, the heavy pat did little but nudge the scholar's glasses further up her muzzle and conjure another wheezing fit.
Moondancer waggles a hoof with a mangled, 'I'm good' barely audible above her choking asthmatic coughs. But for all its awkwardness, the near electric sensation was dispelled. Moondancer finally falls mostly quiet, snorting to clear her nostrils and swallowing...
Only to look up and flush as both princess and protege fix her a look of mild disgust. If they hadn't seen it, they heard it.
“Eeew.” Sunset cringes, but a vague outline of a smile forms on her muzzle.
And only then did Moondancer seem to register the expressions. 'D-did I really just... Stars, banish me now.' Moondancer winces, feeling the sickly heat of embarrassment flood her face with an intensity just short of making her glasses fog up.
“D-don't be such a colt about it.” It was a little squeak to regain some dignity.
Luna merely looks aside and nods towards a long chaise at the other end of the room. Next to it was an end table laden with a few refreshments, a pitcher of water, juice, and some likely slightly stale cookies on a silver platter. It wasn't much, but eating suddenly wasn't really at the forefront of any of their minds.
'good job, filly.'
Still, Sunset quickly trots over, taking the glass pitcher and popping three paper cups from a stack. “Okay,” she starts while pouring some water. “Needless to say, that didn't go so well. But it's done for now.” She offers the drinks to her companions.
“Understatement.” Moondancer mumbles, taking the proffered drink and snatching a soft jam-centered cookie from the platter. “A combined five hours of testimony boiled down to what we already know. Then the council will get to 'evaluate' our project after a few summer-student fillies stumble in to give their school presentation tomorrow.”
“Evaluate the relic.” Sunset mutters, “That means it's gonna be in their hooves now until they decide if we get it back. And like Moondancer said, we're waiting on them even if it's supposed to be just tomorrow. Oh, and of course, they haven't said anything about funding us. And they didn't even agree to our plan to speak with anypony on the other side, let alone going back through. ” The fellow Unicorn says, finding a seat on the plush saffron divan set next to a standing lamp and potted poinsettia. Moondancer couldn't help but notice that it looked surprisingly healthy for being out of season.
She preferred fabric faux-flowers herself. They typically didn't die or wilt on her like the actual ones did.
“Correct, Empathy.” Luna nods sharply, still evidently irritated as she remains standing, pacing in circles at the center of the room while staring straight ahead. “But if action need be taken, then it shall, regardless of what some council of nobles suggests. Sister's changes to how proper organizations are funded is inconsequential. I will use what we need from my own treasury.”
“That's not the royal treasury, right?” Moondancer sways a little awkwardly, taking her paper cup and swishing some of the life giving liquid around in her parched mouth.
“Nay,” Luna sighs, “'Tis a sum allocated for Our personal use to use as We see fit.”
The room falls silent for a moment as Sunset looks up, “Luna, is everything we do, travel, accommodations, these medals and all that, funded by your allowance?”
“N-nay.” Luna stiffens, stopping in mid-trot. “The medals are from our old order. Though the rest, mayhaps, have been drawn from a stipend that We have been allocated for frivolities over the months.”
“... Stars above, I'm in an adventuring club full of fillies, paid for by an allowance. Again.” Moondancer mutters, nibbling at the jam filled cookie. “Luna's a little better at it than Lyra, I guess.”
But it does get a look from Sunset, “Don't you get most of your funding based on how well you do for the University?”
Two pairs of eyes bore into her as Moondancer's ears practically glow in addition to the rest of her face. “Well, I mean, if you want to throw in reductionist arguments and other similar things, then it bears some passing resemblance to-okay yeah, that's kinda... yeah.” Moondancer slurps the drink noisily and looks up to Sunset. “Well what about you?”
The mare shrugs, “I had a couple part time jobs, waitress, cook, and stuff.” Each word comes out more muffled than the last.
Moondancer just blinks, “Protege, huh?” she whispers, “Well, whatever.” Taking another breath she rests back, “So... no touching the mirror until my teacher says so. Yeah. This is bringing back a lot of memories.”
“If thou were instructed by an infuriating wretch of a stallion, verily.” Luna angrily huffs, draining the water in one gulp. Forcing down the mouthful, she eyes a floral pattern couch slid against the wall a few hooflengths from Sunset's divan, then shuffles over uncomfortably to flop across its length. “They can not stop us from meeting, and we know the truth though they decry it as a potential 'danger'.”
“I mean, they are kinda right.” Sunset looks over, levitating a jam cookie that Moondancer was slowly edging in on. “There's no doubt that the likes of Erebus are a real danger. Imagine if they just sort of 'showed up' right here. No wonder they don't want us talking to strange colts we barely know. We might be a bad influence on them.” Sunset can't hold back the little smirk for more than two or three seconds, thus she hides her grin behind the raspberry jam cookie.
“We could handle them.” Luna looks at her paper cup and quickly refreshes her drink before gulping that down just as quickly. “We have faith that Horus could stop the lesser, We could thwart the greater.” She sighs, “Besides, We saved him from nightmare beasts. We think we deserve a pass.”
“No comment. I... don't really know him.” Moondancer admits awkwardly as she shuffles back and forth on her hooves next to the table with the treats. Finishing her water, she quickly pours herself some grape juice and fetches a few more cookies in her grasp before looking for a spot to sit. Instead of occupying a chair, she waivers, wondering if she should ask Sunset to shuffle over a bit to give her some room. She sure wasn't about to ask if she could sit next to Luna.
That would be weird. The couch is bigger, but so is she.
“Here, c'mon, sit down.” Sunset wiggles a bit, curling up into the divan's cradle but sparing a pillow for Moondancer to have the rest. And, just as awkwardly, the cream-coated Unicorn complies. “So,” Sunset continues, crossing her forehooves and settling her chin down on top. “What's the plan? Just wait here until they make their decision?”
Almost as Moondancer slides in near Sunset, Luna shuffles off her couch and sets back to pacing, leaving the Unicorn to gaze at Luna's recently abandoned seat and wonder how awkward it is staying on the slightly-too-small divan with Sunset.
It was kinda weird wasn't it?
With no response from Luna immediately, Sunset polishes off her treat and washes it down before refilling her disposable paper cup. “There's little we can do but wait.”
Luna strides the length of the room, quickening her movements to a trot, head down as if on some ancient display. Both unicorns watch for a time, seeing the slight irritated flick of their princess's tail or the occasional flutter of an ear. Moondancer just looks to Sunset as if asking for permission to interrupt a malfunctioning Alicorn.
And just as she opens her mouth, she sees the slow smile forming on the princess's lips. She stops sharply, one forehoof raised before her bright cyan eyes travel up to the pair. “Was it said that the miserable bearded stallion was the head of the Equestrian Education Association?”
“Uh-huh?” Sunset offers with an inquisitive lilt.
“Then he was the one who previously inspected and denied Magic's school its accreditation, correct?”
Luna's grin was infectious in the same way the cutie pox was. A sickly and yet deeply curious sensation falls across Moondancer as she nods, “Yeah, that would be him. Twilight did say that he was more or less responsible. It sounded pretty bad at the time.”
“Yeah,” Sunset glances back, “I can't be sure but I think she was drunk-scribing Celestia in the middle of the night that first few days. Kinda didn't help it was the same time she'd just hoofed over all the goods, diary and all."
“At least they didn't have her testify, think she probably would have went a bit nuts.”
“Twilight's a good mare, she'll be beating herself up over this. She didn't give much of a statement in comparison.”
The back and forth between the two mares was enough to let Luna all but stalk up, getting noticed only by a jumpy Moondancer at the last moment. The little flinch and splatter of grape juice on the saffron divan prompting all three ponies to look at the dark spots forming on the edge.
“T'would be a pity if the school went unused.” Luna's grin is all teeth, “It would be a shame if a crown project of that magnitude went abandoned, would it not, my friends?”
“It was a nice looking building from the pictures.” Sunset nods.
“Filly, you got pictures? I saw the ads, but Twilight didn't send me anything.” Moondancer huffs, crossing her forelegs, conveniently trying to obscure the juice stain.
“I kinda figure it's because she might have been wanting to offer me a job here, not, y'know, a personal thing.” The fiery Unicorn mare offers up a bit of an apology, reaching over to give the bespectacled one a light nudge on her shoulder.
“Oh, not a personal thing? What, I'm not good enough to be a teacher?” Moondancer's bushy eyebrow raises as if trying to instill dominance... 'choose your words wisely, filly.'
Unintimidated, Sunset smirks, “Of a Friendship academy?”
“If we're calling social sciences, graphology, distilled homeopathy, and phrenology 'real science' now, then sure, why not.” Moondancer gulps down the juice in one draw before refilling it with a scrunched muzzle.
“And that miiiight be why she didn't ask you.” Sunset smirks, but swiftly returns her attention to a now-closer Luna, practically smiling in her face. Sunset quickly rears her head back, “woah!”
Luna's eyes were all but alight, the glittering of excitement a far cry from the rage-fuelled flames from only minutes before. “'Tis perfect. Friends Starlight and Moondancer, didst thou see the transcripts of this, so-called, communication from San Palamino?” The Alicorn's grin getting even wider.
“No?” Moondancer replies with a hesitant confusion before looking to Sunset, only to see the Unicorn sporting a mirrored expression.
Luna grins. “Tell us, dost thou know a spell of Tongues?”
'...'
Moondancer blinks, trying to limit a few thoughts to make the faint blush nearly undetectable.
“A translation spell?” Sunset hums, now curious. “I can't say I do. I mean, I may have cast one or two in practice but they were those X to Y kind of things, not, like, a general spell. You, Moony?”
“Hmm?” Kicked out of her thoughts, the cream-coated mare looks over. “What? Translation spell, no. Not really. I actually studied the language because it tends to need context indicators. Lots of spells flub those things.” She'd proofread a few first-year student papers to recognize the Mid-Griffonian mangling of, 'this carpet is not meant for eating.'
“Hmmm.” Luna taps her chin with a hoof and grins, wings fluttering in excitement, “Then We shall confer with one who, We trust, knows. Verily, this shall work. We shall give, and we shall take, and they shall call us wise and benevolent. For that, We shall require a mare of certain expertise to join us.”
Moondancer couldn't be sure why, but a sudden chill runs through her bones.
Luna nods, turning quickly “We must make preparations and send missives. Friends, we shall meet thee back at our lair by the mid-day hour. Our guards shall see to thine safety!” Luna takes a step back, and before anypony could convince her otherwise, she disappears in a cyan flash of light with a lingering whip-crack 'bamf'.
Moondancer blinks spots from her eyes, the after-effect of the teleportation still seared into her sockets. “Oh for Star's sake, filly.” she grumbles, setting the juice cup down on the edge of the table. She mutters grimly to herself, nudging her glasses up and over her hooves before massaging her eyelids.
A faint splashing sound reaches her ears a moment later, making them flatten out as she stops breathing completely.
“Well,” Sunset swallows, “That's never coming out. So, are we going to just pick up something to eat on the way back to your place?"
"Way to go outing our secret hide-out, Sunset."
“Okay, you can do this. We can do this! We got it, it'll be simple. The key, Sine, is to not panic. We're professionals, we've done these reports dozens of times. Nay, hundreds of times. Justdon'tpanic'kay?” Each word creeps higher up Clarion Call's impressive vocal register until her melodic trill rises to a squeaky babble.
“Fine.” Sine Wave sighs heavily, listening to the jangle and clatter of the earth mare's saddlebags. The pair trot up the wide marble staircase and into the shade cast by the courthouse's wide statue lined portico, the warmth of the fresh morning light whisked away by the shade.
It was a magnificent sight, first thing in the morning. Golden rays touch the warm grey stone, settling on the ancient features of pony magisters of ages long gone, while the faint breath of the breeze whisks across its well worn steps. Sunlight beats down in gossamer rays through the silver-touched clouds of early morning Canterlot, dappling the capital in islands of golden light and cool shadows.
Sine Wave takes in a breath and flares her nostrils as she picks up the heady scent of the wind scoured mountainside as it combs through her plum-hued coat. She almost wanted to stop, toss the sweaty pack from her back, and just lay out on the steps for a while. Canterlot.
Home again.
“it'll be fine, just let me do all the talking, Sine,” Clare's nervous twitter breaks the revelry of the regal quarter's sanctified quiet. “I am, like, the best at talking. I am the mistress of words!” Sine's pink friend-associate-colleague trots up a full pace behind her.
Aside from an annoying itch beneath the sweaty saddlebags on her haunch, Sine felt pretty good. It would be better if that mare would just shut the buck up for a second and not ruin the moment, but she was necessary.
Clare was still more suited to being the assistant than Cosine. Sine loved her sister, but she was totally useless in public. The filly would lock up at the thought of final exams, sweat profusely when questioned in class, so who knew what would happen if she was questioned by a board of professors... in a courthouse. Like some sort of common criminal.
Actually that was still a curious question too. Why had they been sent here instead of Canterlot University's campus? Still, nothing had really changed, so there shouldn't be much to worry about. And despite her blathering, Clare was right, they'd done this before.
“Justbuckingrelaxfilly!” Clare wheezes behind her, hoofsteps clattering ungainly as she climbs the broad steps while Sine's vision adjusts to the dark.
The warmth is swiftly stolen from her frame as they reach the top of the courthouse stairs and step between the massive stone columns holding up the elaborately carved overhang. Two gold-clad day guard stood on either side of the wide white oak doors that would lead them inside. The embossed brass solar sigil hanging above the courthouse passes with barely a glance, but Sine does catch the eye of one of the guards.
A flash of something almost indiscernible crosses his stoic face.
Pity? Regret? Worry?
Before she can nerve herself to pipe up, the stout Unicorn stallion quickly opens the door with a quick work of magic. Well, she hadn't caught his eye like that, no surprise. Not that she expected it but 'pity' was even worse... or was he looking at Clare?
Glancing back, the usually exuberant and sliiiiightly over-weight pink mare was sweating as they climbed the steps. It wasn't exertion, a little chub or not, the earth-mare was the one that usually switched out all the mechanical gear and did most of the heavy lifting.
The slight knocked-knees, the pinprick sized pupils in her usually bright magenta eyes, sprigs of curling hair popping out from the choral scrags of a matted mess charitably called a mane... okay so Clare might have been the centre of attention after all. The far-too-wide grin was probably just as unnerving, like the Maniac walking into the Manehatten exchange and-
No Sine. Bad pony.
Clare was rubbing off on her, and Cosine wasn't helping. Comics were for foals and mares still living in their father's basements. She was a grown mare with grown mare responsibili-
“This is just like the Maniac in Power Ponies One-Twenty-Seven!” Clare licks her lips, the warble being at least less deranged and more in awe as she stops halfway between the light and dark.
“Not. Now. ” Sine hisses back, but nods her thanks to the guard and quickly trots inside. An accompanying echo follows a few moments later as the pale pink earth pony follows her in.
The trot through the open halls of the place of power was almost intimidating, but that little strand of worry was dwarfed by the sheer sense of awe as the world came into focus around her. The Canterlot Courthouse's striated grey and white veined marble was breathtaking, as was the oil portraits and ancient Articles of Unification placed behind glass in the wide open foyer. Sure, maybe Canterlot palace was grander, but the chance of her heading to Princess Celestia's throne room for some petition, or attending the Grand Galloping Gala, were about the same chances as her finding a stallion with a title to take her... about one in three million.
She'd done the math.
Wide vaulted halls polished to a white marble clatter and clop underhoof, making the sound of Clare's little science experiment in a satchel echo just as loudly in the absence of everything else. The courthouse wasn't quite empty, she saw a few office ponies in the foyer and quickly trotted up to the front desk to check in.
Plastering a smile across her somewhat severe features, Sine knew full well that the grimace she'd adopted from three and a half years as Clare's friend and touchstone for sanity had given her quite the glare by default.
The prim and proper sky blue Unicorn mare behind the gilded cherry wood reception desk, glances up through a pair of dainty frameless spectacles. “Good morning, ma'am. How may I help you?”
A quick tilt of the head had the mare catch sight of Clare as well. A little downturn at the corner of her muzzle said all it needed to.
“We're looking for the main high court room, Sine Wave and Clarion Call of the University of Canterlot.” seeing nothing but a blank blink on the mare's narrow face, Sine continues with a strained grin, “we're expected.”
For some reason.
A sharp glance down below the edge of the counter had her eyes drifting across a few notes before she smiles. “Ah, from the polytechnic delegation, right?”
Sine nods once in response, trying to keep the smile on her face. Smiling was hard.
“Alright, you're expected in courtroom one. Please sign here.” Levitating a sign-in form with a quill and ink pot, the office mare flashes a synthetic grin and waits. Sine quickly scrawls her name before looking back at Clare who was desperately staring off blankly into space. With a whistle and stamp of her hind hoof, Clare snaps her attention back to the desk.
After cocking her head none-too-subtly towards the paper, Clare shuffles forward to snatch the quill in her mouth and make her quick mechanical chicken-scratch mark. She quickly spits the quill out, putting a few ink blotches on the paper. Clare's wide-grin was just as synthetic as her own, but about ten times the size.
Dial it back, filly.
“Thank you. Now, these are your passes.” she quickly hoofs over two passes on lanyards, both of which designated them as visitors with thus under less scrutiny or seizure of their materials.
Not the first time that had happened. Actually it's how she met Clare in the first place.
With a sharp nod, Sine let her smile falter as the mare gave them a quick series of directions that were fairly easy to follow. Turning to the hallway, she lets out a breath and rubs the feeling back into her slightly sore cheeks. Nevertheless, between that, the sights of the aged Canterlotian landmark, and notably blotting out Clare's nervous rambling, eventually she realized she wasn't the only pony in the hall anymore. She'd meandered through the windowed sunlit gallery and past a few newsponies scribbling on notepads, before a creeping realization began to descend on her like a lingering fog bank.
“Um, Sine?” Clare's voice warbles as she clears her throat.
“Yeah?”
“Why are all these ponies outside our courtroom door?”
Every single one was gathered in the little vestibule of the high courts. “Probably something else going on in the second room, don't worry about it.” Sine mutters.
They went unnoticed for less than a minute, parting through the outer ring of ponies with cocked hats and camera frames.
“You're the two experts, eh?” a stallion's voice asks, so heavily accented with the Whinniapolis twang that it hurt.
A voice from behind her rattles unsteadily, “Y-yes?!”
“CLARE!”
She turns as dozens of others focus on them, and in that little lull the wide-eyed pink mare blathers, “sorrysorrysorryIpanicked!”
The door was thrown open in a sheet of cerulean magic and as the reporters descend on them like vultures. A barrage of jumbled questions assaulted her ears while the flickering flash of camera bulbs a few hooflengths away. The retinal searing light bursts in her eyes with the bloom of a solar flare, sending the Unicorn mare reeling back in a disoriented stagger towards the door. She holds one of them open, only to hear a distinctly familiar worried warble and nicker. The fat-rumped mare speeding past her nearly bowls the Unicorn over in her haste to disappear from the crowd. Sine follows, staggering into the darkness, blinded by the white spots from dozens of flashbulb slowly fading from her watering eyes.
Wobbling inside, Sine tries to shut the door only to find it had already been barred. But the awkward stagger sends her forward through the vestibule. The sound of her own misaligned hoofsteps mingle with the nervous staccato trot of her friend a few paces in front of her. Her shoulder brushes against the wooden panelingl, and she careens sharply away with a muttered, “Sorry”, before she registered she had apologized to the wall.
A few blinks and a hoof rubbing at her burning eyes, didn't help to clear her vision at all. Sine still saw darkne-nope, not darkness . She was staring at the pink and choral coloured blob that was probably her earth pony friend, right near the center of an illuminated round.
“Ah, miss Wave, miss Call. I thank you for joining us today.” A disembodied, but oh-so-cultured Canterlotian voice echoes from on high, like some angel. “The court would like to thank you for your assistance on this matter.”
“O-of course.” Sine says, swallowing hard. She had notes, she had prep... and she couldn't see a blasted thing. “happy to be here.”
After taking a dozen flashbulbs to the face at point-blank range, she felt she had to fish out that fake smile. But Sine tries, the grin a lop-sided smirk probably closer to misplaced confidence than the open-thankfulness that she had meant it to be.
“Now,” another stallion starts.
Celestia, a panel of stallions? Two of three wasn't bad. Actually, now that the thought passed through her brain, that was bucking terrifying. There was only one stallion in her University's higher administration that appeared at these kinds of hearings.
“We are going to be asking a series of questions, both related and seemingly unrelated, to your tasks-”
She recognized the clipped, sharp tone of the headmaster himself. Neighsay. She'd changed her major from Theumatology to polytechnic to get away from his Tartarus damned classes!
“But they hold a great deal of importance over other matters going forward. Do you understand?”
No
“Yes.” she replies dutifully as Clare merely seems to nod with an uncertain chirp that had to pass for affirmation.
Neighsay's stern voice calls again, “Is that understood, miss Call?”
“Yas?” The mare squeaks uncertainly.
Looking to the blur that she was ninety five percent sure was her friend, Sine steps forward and pats her withers. Of course, the contact makes her jolt, but Sine just whispers, “Think there's a seat just out-”
“Miss Wave, do you have all the material at hoof for a full presentation of your findings?” A mare asks, the smooth and chipper tone brilliantly familiar.
She couldn't be seen, not in the ring of darkness that surrounded them, but the matronly tone of the elder pegasus couldn't help but pluck the most genuine smile from Sine Wave. Professor Baryon, “Aunt Bee”. The Polytechnical and Theoretical physics prof is still unseen but the smile still spreads across her muzzle.
“Absolutely.” the nervousness all but falls from her withers as her aged pegasus prof's chuckle breaks the relative discomfort.
“Well then, Miss Wave.” The Pegasus's sharp, clipped voice held that mirthful edge. “Would you kindly illuminate us?”
“We will be making special note of your recent findings, however.” Neighsay interjects, his sharp unflinching tone suppressing some of the comfortably fuzzy feelings.
But, with a hoof gesture to Clare, Sine lapses into her old routine. It wasn't really so different from standing up in front of the black board after all. “The original experimentation proposed by Miss Call and myself was part of a theoretical experiment. It supposed that the ether around Equus, and even past the moon, is not a dead stillness, but matter or psuedo-matter made up of waves like a great ocean.”
Ignoring a few scoffs, the Unicorn mare nods to a still shaking Clarion Call, snatching a few rolled up charts and graphs from her saddle bags and levitating them up behind her. “The project suggested that, if the area around us is some super-fluid then we would see radiating wave activity. If it's a void, then perhaps there may be other forms of either thaumotological or non-kinetic energy that could be registered.”
“But what are you measuring? Why would there be any movement at all?” Neighsay's sharp tone indicated more than just disbelief, rather, a spiteful snort of contempt.
“We figured we could perhaps listen, see, or measure cosmological events such as comets and meteors, or perhaps even the auroras.” Sine replied, stuffing a crinkled graph back in Clare's saddlebag. “Which, we in fact, did find evidence of. But they were some sort of-” Sine Wave blinks, part of her mind quickly blanking.
“Electromagnetic wave, rather than the expected theumotological wave.” Clare picks up, realizes she spoke, and lapses back into silence.
But it was enough to get a smile from Sine. For all of Clare's exuberance in private, this wasn't remotely unusual. “Correct, and Clarion Call's supposition was that, perhaps, if these waves could be detected, we could create instruments to measure even more kinds of signals, waves, and thus record them on mediums, then catalog them as different phenomena. So, the San Palamino observatory was created and funded for our experiment.”
As she looks up into the darkness, the more cultured Canterlotian stallion's voice re-emerges. “Perhaps you could take us through what you hoped to achieve, and your methods. Not all of us are as scientifically gifted on the council, so we'd appreciate some small words if you'd be so kind.” the slight touch of self depreciation got a faint chuckle from the gallery.
It was about then that Sine actually realized, it wasn't just three other ponies in the room. There might have been more. Her ears flick as she hears shuffling from both sides.
There could be a lot more. It might not even just be a three-pony panel.
Horse apples, what did I get myself into?
“C-certainly...”
“-Which goes onto the spooling reel after having passed under this magnetized portion, called a head, that aligns and imprints the signal onto the ferro-oxide strip of film. Which, of course, can be stored indefinitely, then re-read or re-recorded for future listening, kay?”
The perky earth-mare grins up into the darkness, the flickering pictographic 'film reel' fluttering in the background as the twin spools of sound and picture rolled around behind the projector.
Luna stares from her spot in the gallery, peering through the darkness at the grinning mare. Her photographic projector was an amazing contrivance, more so than even the gramophone. It had, evidently, made the projects earliest years profitable enough for the University to fund the ludicrous-seeming research. And it had started more than a year prior to her return.
Clarion Call smiles up at the 'board', the five ponies staring down with the glow of the lamps illuminating documents or items that had been passed to them from the two science-ponies. Sine Wave had been more interesting to her, having explained the funding and methods, but the technology and enthusiasm from the once-frozen Clarion Call had captured the board.
Aside from the granite face of Neighsay.
Luna had watched him out of the corner of her eye, seeing the stallion move only when asking questions or to inspect the devices offered up by the duo of University grad students.
“So you recorded more than one of these perspective messages?” Neighsay says again, staring at a blank roll of magnetic tape.
Clarion Call vigorously bobs her head, “Uh-huh! Lots. We have nine reels, and only kiiiiinda stopped when we ran out. But we got some more stuff made-”
“Purchased out of satchel?” Professor B said more as a reminder than anything else, directing the notice to Neighsay to remind him that they'd be cutting a check for a few bits by the end of the day.
“Uh-huh!” Clare grins even more broadly, “I mean, how could we not? This is genuinely amazing, true proof of alien life!”
And the silence that echoes in the chamber, if short lived, hangs for a moment. Then dies as scores of ponies all around Luna gasp and mutter among themselves despite a warning glare from Fancy Pants. A glare nearly unseen in the relative gloom.
She catches little instances, 'she can't be serious', 'mad science filly', and a dozen other dismissive or incredulous babbles. But the Princess of the Night keeps quiet, secure in her disguise and trying not to ruffle her feathers. The shapeshifting spell made the absent, disguised wings on her back itch abhorrently. The Unicorn, 'Moonlight', had wormed her way into the court to silently watch the panel.
A few bangs from a gavel restores some semblance of order, but Luna knew it had been leading up to this. The pair had danced around what the recording 'was' for almost an hour.
Moment of truth.
“Alien life?” Neighsay replies, as if timed. “How could you prove it's not just something picked up from the other side of Equestria? We do fund dozens of research projects every semester.”
Clarion Call scoffs, “First of all, it doesn't sound like anything from Equestria.”
Naysay shoots back quickly, “And can I assume that linguistics are not your field of expertise, miss Call?”
The sharp glare was as demanding as could be, and the mare withers under Neighsay's hooded glower. “W-well no... I mean, I'm good at it and know half a dozen languages...” she gulps again, “But this doesn't sound-”
“So, what would you say tipped you off to suggest that, beyond a shadow of a doubt, this is non-Equestrian in origin? Or, for that matter, not from our world?” despite the impersonal sharpness, Luna recognized that this was Neighsay's opening.
He... fed them that question.
'What are you playing at?'
Why was Neighsay of all ponies, feeding them more solid opportunities? He'd been nothing but skeptical of Luna and the Lumin gate, condescending, even dismissive. And this was obviously a related hearing. Luna's cyan eyes narrow as she stares hard at the unblinking chancellor.
“We didn't track signal refraction like that. It should, if the numbers are right...” she glances back at Sine Wave and grins, “And they are. If the numbers are right, this came from a short duration, but massive burst of electro-magnetic energy. It had a thaumatological carrier signal which had to be mostly detangled, but we got this.”
With a theatrical wave of Clarion Call's hoof, Sine Wave more sedately replaced the existing demonstration reel, placed it back in its protective canister, and carefully took out the marked length of tape from another black iron drum. It did leave Clare standing awkward for the better part of a minute while the material was fed into the machine.
But most of that was forgotten the moment the voice played like a flat-deadened hum from the twin speakers set up next to the push chart housing the tape canisters and boxy projector. The voice was low, flat, distorted, and grainy, like some creature from the ocean depths.
'et vocem meam audire contempsit et de edicto Nikea. Quod autem adtinet Lupercal additional suas inquietari implicat, atque immediata et verificationem de, rogatur. Ave Emperator, Ave Russ.'
Sine hits a toggle and the projector falls silent. Not a single voice replaces the sudden silence.
Luna had heard the tone, if not the language. It was passed through a grill, a false mouth, boomed through caverns and rasped on soot choked fields of fire and ash.
The voice was the flat metallic tone of an astartes legionnaire.
Clarion call looks up, the faint rays of hope clear on her face. “Now that's gotta be intelligent, and it's gotta mean something. It's the first recording we made, then cleaned up to be as clear as possible.”
Again, it was Neighsay's almost fragile whisper that breaks the uncomfortable silence of a stunned courtroom, “And when was this?”
Clarion Call smiles, almost shaking from nervous anticipation compared to the others. “Fruicember twenty-first. Five twenty-two in the evening.”
The silent Alicorn's mind quickly picked out the time. The date. And evidently, so did Neighsay as he glances down at a small notepad and scribbles down a few notes. Scrunching his muzzle a bit, the stallion hides the little nod fairly well, but not well enough to escape Luna's notice.
Her own teeth started to grind as he replies, “And the other recordings?”
Clarion Call answers almost before the question was out of the chancellor's mouth, “Fruicember twenty-third, twenty-fifth, twenty-seventh, and every two days since without interruption. All at the same time, starting at exactly five twenty-two in the evening. It is a distinct pattern. But we, well, ran out of tapes and had to commission some more to be made, but this has been constant. Now that we know what we're looking for, it's easy to detect. The voice does appear to be the exact same, with identical intonations-”
“And you have sent the tapes for linguistic analysis?”
“Yes,” Clarion Call and Sine Wave both say at the same time. And seeing Clarion call's eager glance back, the later let her continue with a little waggle of a hoof that says 'go ahead'. “While we couldn't get a Unicorn to use a spell for a translation on the tapes, and they weren't in the observatory, or after the signal had been desynchronized, they did do some work on it.”
“And do tell, what was the results?” Fancy Pants asks on cue after clearing his throat.
Clarion Call beams while Sine Wave fetches a stack of papers in a manila folder to hold up in the air. A court clerk quickly ferries them back under the watch of Luna. The disguise who carefully scoots closer and closer to the court bench, taking advantage of the blank faced ponies staring enraptured by the duo of mares.
“They said,” Clare takes a shaky breath, “while it has some minor cadence similarities to Old Ponish and pre-Equestrian dialects of Pegasopolis in particular, there is no similar word order. The words themselves don't match any known language grouping inside, or to their knowledge, outside Equestria. But it's also too structured to be made up gibberish, and the head of the Equestrian Language Arts department wanted to further study our findings.” The pink mare was grinning madly, rising up and down on her hooftips to bleed off some of the excitement. Even then, her voice rises as shivers ripple along her coat like waves from the sea. “They said they wanted to discuss further cooperation on the alien language!”
“I can confirm the request from Doctor Glot of the Los Pegasus research foundation.” The last mostly quiet Unicorn mare of the council replies. Marian Grey quickly passes a slip of parchment across the bench to the court clerk in her rose-hued magic.
“And for the record,” Neighsay interjects, “This has happened more than once, and recently, Miss Call?”
“Yes! LOTS!”
After her squealed shout, Clare merely hops up and down, still beaming until Sine Wave reaches over to press a hoof to her withers in an attempt to keep her grounded. She then continues, “Like I said, we have nine reels that are deciphered.”
Professor Baryon smiles after giving stealing a glance at Neighsay and Miss Grey in particular, “And you are receiving enough equipment and funds to continue your current research?”
Seeing that the work was on the cusp of continuing, Clare takes a sharp breath “Y-”
A hoof clamps down over her muzzle with a muffled 'merp' sound. “An application for additional funds to commission better recording equipment as well as cover additional expenses, such as our trip here, is currently awaiting submission.” She quickly whispers something to Clare before removing her hoof. It's a gap only long enough for the Unicorn to rummage in her satchel, then produce a professional looking letterhead. She flaps it a few times in the air with her magic, prompting a scurry of hooves from the court clerk stallion as he scrambles to quickly collect it.
Fancy Pants is swiftly passed a note from Neighsay, shooting the stalwart stallion a quizzical glance asking for explanation. Chancellor Neighsay says nothing, pressing his forehooves together and leaning on the bar overlooking the court floor.
“Miss Wave,” Fancy Pants starts, evidently surprised by the little interruption. “would you say that in your informed opinion what would be your educated guess about the importance of your discovery?” Fancy Pants concludes.
“It represents a potential paradigm shift in multiple fields of research, and our understanding of the universe.” Sine Wave replies with faux-calm. A little hiccup as she swallows hard at the end betrays her nervousness despite the facade of detached professionalism.
“And what pony would believe such a thing?” Neighsay replies more skeptically, staring stone-faced with his chin on his forehooves.
Sine Wave and Clarion Call both freeze, as if frozen by the sudden reversal.
He'd fed them opportunity to prove themselves, then yanked it back when it seemed to be related to her mirror gate. The dates... it started on the same day a she'd opened the Lumin mirror.
'He knows it's related. He'll shut it down.'
Luna moves, quick as a shadow she slips behind the three rows of seated ponies to emerge near to the solar guard. In a quick flash of cyan light, her 'appropriated' form melts back into the taller, more elegant shape of her Alicorn self. The guard stiffens, wide-eyed at the sudden movement before Luna quietly hisses, “Move.”
“W-why would anypony not believe us?” Clarion Call pipes up from beside Sine Wave, the plum coated mare shooting her friend a sharp 'be quiet' glare.
“I'm s-sorry ma'am,” The guard stammers, “I can't let you interrupt proceedings.”
“Because the notion of something so unfathomably otherworldly would be completely and utterly ridiculous. Especially, without far more solid evidence of the contrary.” Neighsay replies, getting a snort of irritation from the Pegasus opposite him.
“Move or I shall move thee, guardspony.” Luna hisses at the stallion, peering pass the glamours on the armor and seeing the worried green eyes. She presses her eight and advantage, all but feeling the shock as she looms over him, the exchange all but completely unnoticed in the shadows.
“I'm s-s-sorr-” The guard stammers, and is swiftly brushed aside by a wall of telekenetic force.
“Because,” continues Neighsay, “The concept of other-worldly intelligent life is utterly anathema to the common ponies of Equestria. It lies without the realm of a foal's fiction book, and not reality. And they would request us to stop funneling funds to such patently ridiculous projects without sufficient evidence. I table the motion to suspend further funding of the San Palamino observation project, currently under Canterlot University's purview, until a full review can be launched into the validity and value of the project, or its affect on other programs.”
Clarion Call's ears drop as she stiffens, the hope and enthusiasm draining in an instant at the dismissive summation.
“Liege Mayor. ” Luna's sharp call snaps the attention to her, including the glance from Neighsay and Fancy Pants. “We formally petition the court to desist and adjourn. Verily, we must consult with Our sister about the potential import of the information now presented to Us.”
“Princess Luna,” Fancy Pants says amid the sudden jolt of surprised voices threatening to turn the whole proceedings into chaos. “This is highly unorthodox and very much beyond proper protocol. If you would, your majesty-”
“Then we extend formal royal privilege.” Luna says, blank faced as she approaches the side of the judicial bench, with the mob of ponies swiftly turning to look at her. “We shall not allow something of such magnitude to go neglected, just because it is uncomfortable for Our subjects to accept.”
The scratch of notepads, the warble of voices and even a strange gulp at the word 'subjects' fills what few gaps remain.
Neighsay only mutters, “this is hardly helping your case. And this, likewise, remains outside your consideration.”
“Damn your case and consideration.” Luna hisses sharply, taking a step forward towards the bench.
Fancy Pants quickly seizes a gavel and slams it down with a thunderous bang. “The hearings are in recess for fifteen minutes, clear the courtroom! Princess Luna .” the indignant heat in the liege mayor's words weren't even thinly veiled, “A word, if I may.”
The courthouse lies empty, its air as still and oppressive as a tomb. Only a few hours before, ringing shouts had echoed down the halls, spooking even the seasoned court reporters that slowly retreated further down the hallways until only a few guards remain. The towering tirade, meant for behind closed doors, rests etched in the minds of the dozens of ponies that had stayed, eagerly awaiting for the closed doors to permit them re-entrance.
They hadn't.
The shrieks shook the pillars and obliterated the few thoughtfully placed suppression wards on the room. Already, newspaper print was inked with emboldened letters as punctuated as they had been spat at the time of their utterance by the Princess of the Night.
Canterlot Times, Equestria Daily, Cloudsdale Chronicler, each rolled paper lies on an old white desk next to an uncorked bottle of ink and a quill propped on a sparkling golden dish. The mirror surface reflects the quavering glimmer of a lamps flame that illuminates the twilight shrouded study.
“Luna,” Celestia's voice whispers as she looks over the headlines of the preview papers heaped on her desk. All had some variation of the same thing:
WE ARE NOT BEHOLDEN TO A WITLESS CHORUS OF THE DEAF, DUMB, AND BLIND: SAYS PRINCESS
Celestia levitates a teacup in her golden aura, lifting it to her lips and taking a small taste. It turns as bitter as ash in her mouth. With a juddering breath, she sets it back down with a clatter, betraying her frayed nerves as it rattles on the golden saucer.
Luna was never the most tactful with the nobles, it was far from the first time she'd had to smooth over relations between her sister and the aristocrats. If she downplayed a few 'issues', now was basically the same as it had been in their youth. Admittedly, the time away had only further isolated her from the nobles.
A timid knock at her study door garners a reflective “Come in.” After the faintest of hesitations, a gold-clad Pegasus Solar guard peeks inside.
“M-ma'am." She says, clearing her throat and quickly scuttling in before closing the door behind her.
“Corporal Stratus, isn't it?” Celestia notices the slight freckling, knowing how to squint to see past the armor's glamours and enchantments.
The mare quickly nods her head, “Yes, ma'am.” she throws a shaky salute, realizing Celestia was content to stare with her matronly smile to await her report. Stiffening her spine, the guardsmare continues, “We have attempted several times to pass your message on to Princess Luna, however we were maybe, possibly, umm, rebuffed.”
“Oh?”
Licking her suddenly parched lips, the guardsmare couldn't meet her mistresses gaze. “Y-yes ma'am. The captain of the Night Guard insisted that she was indisposed and couldn't possibly be disturbed.” With a tremulous gasp of breath, she swallows hard. “We thought it prudent not to press the issue.”
The Alicorn takes another sip of tea, mentally working through things in relative silence. Another slight tap of porcelain on polished wood makes the guardsmare tense, only for Celestia to nod and smile in her direction. “That's probably wise. But the messages were delivered?”
“To her chief guardspony, yes, ma'am.” Status affirms, nodding her head.
The Alicorn slowly pans her listless gaze over the bundles of newspapers limply piled on her desk. She stares, making the guardsmare look back and forth between the papers and the unresponsive Alicorn. “That'll be all, Miss Stratus. You are relieved for the evening.” Celestia looks back, flashing a quick comforting grin that sends the pony nearly scuttling back out of the room.
As the door closes, she lets out a sigh she'd been holding for a while.
This was going to take some fixing, indeed.
“This is inexcusable. Prithee, who dost those aged specters think they are to usurp the throne in such a way?! To deny a princess with their... their...”
Moondancer watches as Luna stamps her hoof down on the plush sable throw pillows brought into the basement suite. She could do whatever the buck she wanted, the room was now the lair of the Knights of the Moon. Apparently. Colourful posters waver on the wall, still settling from Luna's previous outburst.
Sunny, you had better get back here quick and not leave me alone as her punching bag!
Moondancer swallows, spotting a few motes of dust fall from the underside of a somewhat rickety shelf housing some of her Ogres and Oubliette miniatures, just a few hoofbredths from her bookshelves bowing under the weight of gaming texts. Her eyes widen, noting how dangerously close the anchor was from slipping out.
With a throaty warble, she scoops up the hoofful of figures and deposits them on her cluttered writing desk, brushing aside her journals and writing implements.
“'Tis... 'tis Unfathomable!” the small collection of statuettes rattle on their desk, drawing a wince from Moondancer who quickly straightens out the slightly askew figures. The flutter of paper behind her said another of her lovingly crafted maps had detached from the wall.
Again.
With a sigh, the Unicorn mare nudges her glasses further up her muzzle, feeling the onset of a headache from more than just the Princess's volume.
I have a princess in my basement, ranting about the future of Equestria and its politicians, listening to what I have to say... kinda. I have the best princess within a hooflength of me, the immortal goddess of the night-
Moondancer glances back over her withers, watching as the Alicorn scrunches up her muzzle and sips her now-cold coffee with a before making a sour face and swirling the mug in her arcane grip.
-and I want to tell her to just shut up for a few minutes so I can figure out what I'm supposed to say.
“We will not let them dictate policy. Sister knows little enough about our allies and friends, thusly she would be unprepared to meet the Warmaster. What would a few rapacious administers be if even sister was not enough, without preparation.”
Luna had been dwelling on this for more than two hours, and gone through no fewer than four cups of coffee. It probably wasn't doing much for her jittery fits, and it certainly wasn't helping quell her new-found paranoid streak.
Well, here we go.
“Princess,” Moondancer can feel the gaze of the princess fall on her with the weight and severity of a lead lab coat. Swallowing back the nervous tang of bile rising in the back of her throat, she continues, “What are we going to do about it? Because, um, if it didn't go well today, it's almost certainly not going to be much better tomorrow.”
A slow grin spreads across the princess's face, but the smile never reaches her eyes. After burying her muzzle in the mug, she inhaled silently and steels her nearly predatory grin. “We have a plan.” The Alicorn gestures to Moondancer with a nod, indicating she should sit on her cushion a few hooflengths from her at the end of the table.
Only when Moondancer takes her seat, does Luna continue. “It is now abundantly clear to us, that the council and the academics shall not heed our wisdom. Thus, they will need convincing of three principle truths. First, that there is a danger on the other side that has henceforth been unaddressed. For that nightmare did not originate from me, or from Equestria. The first point of contact was from the other side.”
Moondancer's eyes widen as she nods, not liking what she had been only peripherally aware of earlier. “S-so, it's true that the creatures from there were the ones who-”
“Made first contact. Yes. And impressed upon us visions of what would come to pass if we declined.” The Alicorn nods solemnly.
“Was it that bad?” Moondancer keeps Luna's gaze though her forehooves do shake a little.
For one long moment, Luna's Cyan eyes seem to glaze, dilating like she wasn't there, before a tremulous shiver courses down her frame. “Like nothing We... like nothing I have seen.”
Moondancer's mouth opens, only for the Princess to sharply lift a hoof for her to keep silent, “While We know what you would ask, 'how bad?' well, in time, Magi.”
Moondancer just nods, not that there's much choice.
“Second,” Luna continues unabated, “They must see the Warmaster as being important. It is not enough that there is a danger, there must be a solution. And We know what and who it is. There are few beings of which I am aware that remotely match his might, resources, will, or determination. Sister, certainly, but where Celestia only turns to the blade in grim finality, he,well, it is not so much a final resort.” she chortles a bit.
“So, let me get this straight.” Moondancer uncomfortably and perhaps a little eagerly shifts in her seat, “You actually found a warrior prince like in a comic book?”
The Unicorn's confidence and goofy smirk disappears as Luna's eyebrow slowly rises. Luna's eyes slowly traverse the room, as if for the first time, actually seeing the Ogres and Oubliette books, Borealis Vallehoof and Frank Phrasetta posters, and assortment of painted minis. None of the paraphernalia quite fit into any 'museum catalog'.
“Not,” Luna's eyes never quite still but slowly fall back onto a now flush and uncomfortable Moondancer, “entirely.”
Sacred moon, banish me now.
The fur on the Unicorn's cheeks prickle up, trying to release some of the embarrassed heat all but radiating through her face. Her string of half excuses, apologies, and justifications comes out in an unintelligible babble as Luna's forehoof slowly tilts her chin up. She stares into a pair of aqua pools, deep as the ocean and just as unfathomable. But instead of being lost in them, a soothing calm and sense of deep serenity washes over the flustered Unicorn.
Luna nods once, prompting an almost reflective gesture from Moondancer, even if the pony only partially understood the meaning.
“Third,” the princess continues, “They must see us as indispensable.” and nods with finality, sharp and quick in a little bob.
But Moondancer just blinks. “You're a princess of Equestria, I'm pretty sure they know you're indispensable.” Her reply only gets the princess to blink, and again, that slow eyebrow rise makes the pony shrink back into her turtleneck. “r-right?”
“Nay, we meant us. Our organization. Not Us, the princess.” Luna merely snorts, “if they were to say We were of little importance, 'twould be tantamount to treason. They may question our health and decisions, but not our worth.”
Realization quickly dawns on the pony as Luna flicks her tail, as if to dismiss an errant fly. “Oooooh.”
It was pretty apparent why the Royal We fell out of usage.
But Moondancer's reply comes with a sharp shrug, “Well, we kinda aren't that important. I mean, we haven't really done anything that anypony else could do. Except Sunset Shimmer. Well, and Twilight was pretty useful. Starlight Glimmer.... actually, why am I here?”
Luna's mirthless smile had since dissolved, but she takes a breath and gently prods Moondancer's chest through the scratchy charcoal turtleneck. “Do not sell thyself short. Thine aid to Magic was invaluable, and while thy powers are perhaps not as grand as Starlight Glimmer, we value thy efforts and quick-wittedness.” Luna's hoof taps the concealed medallion of the Knights of the Moon. “That medallion was not given to thee by accident.”
A rosy tint once more coloured her face, but this time the embarrassment wasn't quite so bad. Tongue tied again, the mare stares at a very interesting spot between her forehooves. Actually, it was a little dusty. She should probably clean this place more.
“This order shall engender itself, as its ponies have proven their worth and fortitude. So while, perhaps, not all shall venture across the planes to parts unknown-”
Shall venture into the what now?
“-it is still of the utmost importance. And as such, it must have loyal and talented ponies like thineself in its ranks. Have no fear, Magi, for thou art of great import to this endeavor!” The Alicorn strikes a pose, rising from her seat and thrusting a foreleg into the air.
Left to her surprise and confusion, Moondancer owlishly blinks at the Princess of the Night. "Uh-huh."
"Good! Then there shall be no more talk of worthlesness, especially not in the eyes of the dullards of the council. What will come to pass, shall come to pass, and they shall bear the consequences." The Alicorn shuffles a little on her hooves at the sudden and uncomfortable lull in conversation. It was the first real gap in hours. Luna turns her gaze to her now empty mug. “Friend Magi, wouldst thou grant us a boon?”
“Double cream, double sugar?” the question comes automatically to the Unicorn's lips, but it wasn't so much a question anymore.
“Please, and thou hast our thanks.” Luna grins in satisfaction as the Unicorn nervlessly nods. Moondancer quickly magicks up the empty mug in her grasp before turning to depart, just as confused as the first time she'd led Princess Luna down here.
At least the little errand would help her put a few of her thoughts in order. The door to their 'lair' closes behind her, and Moondancer trots into the short basement hallway, giving a start as the magical hearth's pilot light starts with a guttural whine followed by a faint bubble from the hot water tank. Maintenance rooms were always creepy, no matter how upscale. She'd bet that the Castle's basement maintenance room was just as creepy.
Nothing good ever happened in a boiler room, if comics, books, and campfire tales were any indication.
Staring down into the cup, the little ring of umber liquid swirled around at the bottom of the porcelain mug. “'Course the Princess of the moon would want a double-double.” She was a little surprised that she didn't just take it black, but such are the whims of royalty.
She makes her way down the hall, feeling the narrow walls pressing in on her as her hooves clatter across the cold foundation bedrock. The steep wooden stairway of rough hewn wood was always a little disconcerting to go down, but coming back up was a blessing.
The mare climbs the steps with a little more speed than is strictly necessary, reaching for the door only for the wooden door to slide open a hairsbredth from her outstretched hoof. A shadow of a pony blots out the light in front of her eyes, leaving a darkened figure looming up above her.
The Unicorn's heart seems to burst out of her chest as she lets out a startled squeak, only to jump and smack into the stone wall as, with a deep whoosh, the hearth's conjured flames spring to life. The mug falls from Moondancer's failing arcane grip, handle smashing on the first step before it bounces down the wooden stairs to shatters on the stone floor at the bottom.
“Moony! You okay there, filly?” The nameless silhouette asks, its familiar husky tone as disarming as it had been for the past months.
“Magi?” Comes the concerned voice from down the hall, followed by an Alicorn's head poking out from behind the door frame.
Moondancer just holds a hoof to her chest to calm her thundering heartbeat. “F-fine. Ev-everything's just fine. Just trying to swallow my heart back into my chest, thanks.” But looking back up, she manages a wry grin at the all too-familiar figure standing a step above her.
Sunset Shimmer at least has the courtesy to look a little sheepish, flashing a grin and looking past her at the broken shards or porcelain strewn across the floor.
Luna's hoofsteps echo in the narrow hallway, thus putting the cream-coated Unicorn mare somewhat between the Sunny-faced Unicorn and one of the princesses of Equestria.
“Welp,” Moondancer swallows hard, her heartbeat still erratic and now a slight pain flaring in her cheek, “Gonna need to get some more mugs soon.”
Sunset still holds that sheepish grin before a flare of magic quickly sweeps up most of the larger porcelain shards before forming a misshapen pile. “I-um, sorry about scaring you like that.”
“Startling me, Sunset.” The ball of broken pieces is exchanged in mid-air, “I was startled, not scared. There's a difference.”
“Sure.” Sunset smiles and looks past Moondancer who just uncomfortably shuffles on the top step as if to ask 'you gonna move?'
Sunset weaves to the side, allowing Moondancer up but she keeps her focus centered on the Alicorn, “So, I delivered the letter to the post master like you asked, but there was something waiting for you, princess.”
Luna lofts a brow as Moondancer quickly takes her leave with the shattered mug still encapsulated in her magic. “Oh? From whom, pray tell?”
That may have caught Moondancer's interest, but having breezed up the steps, she emerges into her living room and quickly makes her way to the adjacent kitchen. “Ugh, this place is too small to be a secret lair.”
With her hooves clicking on the tile, she barely catches Sunset Shimmer's answer of 'don't know', brushed aside in the moment of disposing of the broken mug. She pops the top of the wicker wastebasket and tosses the jumbled assortment of broken pieces inside before realizing the princess was occupied. She was alone. At least for a few seconds.
Looking around the small galley kitchen and the counter separating it from the nook that had always sufficed as her dining room, she takes a moment to realize she was right: this wasn't really a great headquarters for some secret society. It was barely big enough for a Sunday night game of O&O.
Okay, so it was just big enough for three ponies to squeeze into the little booth seats around the table stuffed in a corner just shy of the backyard entrance, and the mudroom too-small to turn around in. It wasn't a great space, with the yellowing tiles, some dinged counter edges where the old elegant marble finish had chipped. The wall sconces that gave off that dingy light probably needed a scrub, and her cabinets were starting to peel.
Huh... you know it didn't look this bad a few months ago.
Okay, she'd usually stayed in here just long enough to fetch something from the fridge, then sat down with a bowl of oatmeal long enough to stuff her nose in a book. Maybe it would need some cleaning or upkeep. At least it had all the amenities, stove, fridge, sink, rack for drying dishes, and that lovely stainless steel coffee maker.
With a smile, she quickly flicked its switch and reached for some filters. A sealed canister held all the precious life-giving coffee beans that might be one of the few items she tended to splurge on.
Praise the night.
Fishing out another of her ever-dwindling stock of glasses and mugs, she sets about making two portions. The coffee maker bubbles and roils in its hissing, gargling fit as Moondancer sets everything else in order.
I guess I should be nice.
“Hey Sunset!” She hollers, “You want something to dri-”
The front door slams shut, leaving the mare to dart to the living room and poke her head out. She spots a somewhat stiff and confused Unicorn mare staring at the front door.
“What was that?” Moondancer calls.
“Princess got a letter.” Sunset hums. "Official seal."
“Oh.”
“Said call the guards and go to the ninth street bridge at midnight if she's not back or hasn't sent word.” Sunset stares at the empty doorway for a second before glancing back towards Moondancer with a note of concern.
“That creepy one in low-town? Okaaaaay, that doesn't sound suspicious or ominous at all.”
Sunset sighs, “Yep.”
“You know, despite our titles, you don't think that Luna's gonna have us doing real knight things, right?”
Sunset shakes her head and turns, trotting back over but giving the door one or two last pensive glances. “Honestly, I wouldn't put it past her. It didn't help that you had a sword hung up in your bedroom.”
“That's for decorative display purposes only. It's a replica of... you know what, never mind. The point is, she left, we're up till midnight, and there's two cups of coffee on the counter. So, while I could drink them both, it'd probably get gross and cold before then. So, are you gonna help me drink this or not?”
Sunset looks over, sniffs the air, and shrugs with a friendly smile. “Yeah, why not.”
“Good.” Moondancer nods with finality, “Two creams, two sugar, and you're gonna like it, because I don't know a spell that can fix 'wrong' coffee.”
Sunset follows Moondancer into the kitchen, entering inside before a chuckle reaches the unicorn mare's ears. “Yes ma'am.”
Moondancer can only turn around and glare at the mock salute and poked out tongue from her somewhat taller friend. The Doom Gaze didn't even phase that mare.
She'd have to work on that.
Nightfall in the low-town quarters as cool and damp, a cloud of mist and fog had drifted down the mountain slopes and settled in eddies within the lowest stretches of Equestria's capital city. The Canterlotian streets felt dank and murky, swathed in obscuring veils of pale grey as lights barely formed islands in the gloom.
Luna had meant to observe the location in disguise. But she had come too late, twilight's last rays had cast a purple haze across the horizon and nightfall had completely stolen away the lowborn citizenry, who had retreated to their homes or to the inns within the city limit. A duo or her Night Guard had just passed by, crossing over the bridge and disappearing into the fog on the other side.
Luna sits in the lee of an older tower entrance, taking the appearance of a waif shrouded in a dull blue cloak. She blends in with the aged stone and corroded wrought iron fence like some mystic tarot card come to life. The narrow alleyway off to the side was entirely blurred from existence by the mists that settled among the discarded boxes and muck swept down in the light rains.
But below her, just down a short decaying stone stairway, was the bridge. Two stairways curl downward to the lower aquaducts that carried storm water down through the city. One was trafficked well enough, its line of lanterns shining a pale orange up to a riotous three story manse overlooking the sharp cut in the middle of the city itself.
The Prancing Pony inn was a well known travelers establishment, not far from Canterlot's main south gate or Hearthrow station. It was cheap, it was pleasant, and it had evidently been a landmark here for centuries. The moss clinging to the aged wattle and daub upper floors spoke to its aged architecture among the city of spires. Opposite it is a winding stairwell winding down to the city storm drain.
The other side of the bridge was constricted by tall three story structures disappearing in the misty night air. But lanterns on either end of the bridge, and another in the middle, would be hard to evade.
Where are you?
It was time, her moon was obscured, leaving little room for wane shadows. But with a slight hiss of magic, Luna spots the figure coalesce from the darkness, stepping out from a mist bank that swirls around their hooves.
It reveals a taller figure, a pony no doubt, but hidden behind a heavy maroon travelling cloak that completely hid their features. There was no hesitation, no scurrilous glances, the figure stays still in the centre of the stone bridge, overlooking the multi-coloured glass of the ancient inn.
There was no signal, just the appointed time, and it was now.
Luna carefully creeps down the steps, her hoofsteps muffled by a myriad of intricate spells, and appearing as any other dark coated Unicorn in the city. But she doesn't escape notice, seeing the hood of the other pony tilt her way. She brushes down the steps and carefully paced herself to avoid drawing any unnecessary attention, walking out into the middle of the mist shrouded cobblestone street. Little wisps swirl around her hocks as she sets hoof onto the bridge.
Without a single sound, she looks up at the blurry shadow of the cloaked pony, a Unicorn. Cold green eyes peer out from under the hood as the ivory-coated stallion stares down his muzzle at her, the black goatee easy to make out at this distance despite the deep set hood.
Luna bares her teeth, lips peeling back in anger into a passing imitation of a feral wolf, “Chancellor Neighsay.”
Author's Note
Alright, this is why I uuuuusually gather up a few chapters, having a nice little backlog so I can keep things on track. Been a busy week but here we are.
Chapter 7: New Friends In Old Faces
“CLEAR THE LANDING ZONE. CLEAR THE LANDING ZONE.”
The impersonal dead-flat rasp of a servitor calls out in time with the blare of klaxons and the flash of warning lights. The few deck ratings who were previously tending to conveyors and fuel trams quickly scurry away from the slowly descending bird of prey taking roost in the Vengeful Spirit's aeries.
Dull sodium lumins reflect grungy yellow light from mirror polished wings or show as simple blobs of incongruous light winking off the rounded metallic amethyst cowling. Despite being ostensibly the same as its peers, the elegant swept-winged Silver Hawk illuminated every grace of Chemosian artifice, from the slight forward tilt of the cockpit to the graceful sweeping lines that are only disrupted by the dropship's talon-like landing gear. Everything spoke to its place, as much a work of art as a war machine.
The peerless eighty meter long lander screams like a falcon as gravity takes hold, only for the thrusters to blaze to life and suspend it in mid-air. Gently caught by the large mechanical grapnels swinging down from the roof, the immense articulated joists and grappling limbs inelegantly grasp the swan-like vessel.
“Best break out the band,” Torgaddon stands on the top post gantry in his captain's finery while watching the spectacle of their guests landing, “I'm sure those florid princelings will be expecting us to play them a theme song when they step off the plane.”
A half dozen sea-green legionnaires cackle or snort behind him, all safely hidden from the new arrivals on their own closed vox channel. Each of the legionnaires at Torgaddon's back illustrate the Horusian trappings in their own way: a myriad of colored cloaks, crests, and plumes clash together in a heraldic symphony. But beneath it all is the same black and gold banding decorating mirror-shined viridian battle plate, reflecting what dim light illuminates the Spirit's secondary landing hangar. The Warmaster's banner flutters in the downdraft of the Stormbird's thrusters, sending the tangles of campaign streamers attached to the golden Eye of Terra into a whipping frenzy.
Finally, the Silver Hawk settles into the launch cradle, prompting the mechanical umbilical plank to extend from the gantries with a clicking mechanical whir.
“Right, lets get on with this peacock parade. Glory squad, attention!” Torgaddon neatly spins the silvered longsword in his grasp, spinning its point in the gantries diamond grating until he rests both hands on the pommel. The rest of the honor squad follow suit, drawing their blades and setting them point down in salute.
Almost the instant it was done, the umbilical mates with the Stormbird's forward boarding ramp with a hiss. In moments, through the glasteel portals dotting the eel-like protrusion, the captain could only smirk as he watches the pristine white and gold sway of fabric.
“They really did bring a battle standard, didn't they?” Ezakon, the newest of Torgaddon's cadre, whispers into the vox-mic.
“They're the heralds of the Emperor, they bring a flag everywhere.”
The tramp of armored boots heralds the new arrivals, and Torgaddon wrinkles his nose behind the blank-faced helm. Evidently, it could be worse.
The amethyst clad figure wore the white Prime Helix on his marbled pauldrons, golden wings and fluting marking him out as an important figure among an already elaborately adorned legion. Six warriors follow in his wake but only the vexillia stands out, bearing the white silken standard: an embossed thing of inlaid silver laurel boarders and gold stitched eagles. But it's bearer was like the rest, hidden behind an eagle-winged mask of etched gold, the white marble pauldrons bearing gaudy golden relief instead of the simple acid etch of many others.
“Lieutenant Commander Fabius.” Torgaddon's steely tone rings with as much false cheer as he could muster. “Welcome aboard the Vengeful Spirit . Apologies for not receiving you in the main embarkation deck, it's under something of a renovation.”
The gaunt face didn't so much as flinch, his thin lips pinched into a permanent scowl as his sharp green eyes peer into the face of the armored Mourneval captain.
He raises a hand in a short, clipped salute as graceful and sterile as could be expected from one of the Emperor's Children's foremost personalities. “Yes.” his sibilant voice practically hisses from between ivory teeth. If Torgaddon hadn't known better, he'd have thought the man had just sniffed disdainfully at him. “The rumors and hearsay of the Davin incident have flown far and wide. I should offer my condolences for the loss of your Chief Apothecary.”
Inspecting the sallow Terran's face and finding only the same disinterested dead-eyed stare, Torgaddon chews on the inside of his lip to keep his tongue in check. It would be easy to tell the Lieutenant Commander to take both his condolences and his condescension, then shove them somewhere not generally approved of by the Principia Bellicosa .
“Nevertheless,” Fabius continues, turning his attention to the rest of Torgaddon's cloaked Glory squad before panning his attention past them to the door. “Our Warmaster has called upon Lord Fulgrim and requested my aid. Personally.”
“Riiiight.” Torgaddon sighs and nods, turning sharply as he swiftly sheathes his sword as does his entire detail. “Well, then I shouldn't keep you waiting. I'm sure the Warmaster will permit you an audience at once, and I can be out of your hair.”
“Yes. I have a number of correspondence to relate to the Warmaster from Lord Fulgrim, and I am to do it personally.” Fabius perhaps reinforces the importance, but finally they lapse into an uncomfortable silence.
The secondary hangars were far less grand than that of the main embarkation deck, but half of that was still a buckled and charred ruin vented to the void and picked clean by servitor clades and suited technicians. Something made apparent as the motley knot of polished warriors trundles out from the secondary deck, making their way down the scarred corridor butted up against the hall leading to the embarkation deck itself.
The damage would have been apparent to anyone with a view from a porthole on the descent in.
It only takes the procession a few dozen meters down the wide hallway before Fabius harrumphs, “I expected to be met by the Warmaster himself, not one of his four lieutenants.”
“Well, we can't all get what we want.” Torgaddon offers in reply, not quite hiding the trace of frustration.
“No, I suspect not. Or you wouldn't be here to receive me. It would be Aximand or Maloghurst. Or, perhaps, that new fellow.” For the first time, Fabius breaks the marble facade of disinterest and takes a wandering glance aside to regard his host, “Gabriel was it?”
“Garviel.” Torgaddon sighs, reaching up to take off his helmet and mag lock it to his belt. With his saturnine complexion, black hair, and slightly upturned nose, he was a dark reflection of the almost albino Terran. “We're running a legion here, and a rather large one, so inevitably some of us have something to do. But it's still my pleasure to serve the Warmaster however he needs.”
“Of course. As it should be.”
“Well, Chancellor,” The dark Alicorn snorts at the sudden and unwelcome figure, “speak and be quick about it.”
Neighsay stares impassively at her for a moment, jerking his head back at the Unicorn standing at the base of the bridge. He wrinkles his nose and peers down his snout at her. “Princess Luna, I should have known.” The scrutinizing glare is partially blurred from her mind as something else congeals like a niggling headache at the base of her horn.
'Luna.'
“It would do nopony any good if this were all out in the open.” His words are sharp but quiet, meant exclusively for her.
She's almost caught off guard as the Unicorn makes a subtle gesture towards the far side of the bridge, closer to herself and the staircase descending into the storm sewers.
He avoids drawing attention, not given to making sharp movements or casting jerky glances into the darkness. Luna follows a few paces behind. She follows the cloaked Unicorn down the steps, her hoofs scrabbling across the slick marble stone more than once as the voice pricks her mind.
'Luna.'
'Not now.' She mentally chastises before taking a steadying breath. The mist of water rises up from the mostly dry runnel, with only the bronze safety railings separating them from a ten meter plunge.
Neighsay rounds the corner as the stairway disappears into a sharp turn under the bridge, bringing them to a wooden entrance door to the utility network under Canterlot itself. With a flash of his horn, the thick iron padlock momentarily glows and comes unfastened with a muffled click. With the faintest arcane glow, the door squeaks and yawns inward.
“Come with me.” Neighsay says sharply and disappears inside without a backward glance.
“Not until you tell Us why We were summoned.”
Neighsay sighs through his nostrils in an unimpressed huff. “Because I'm sick and tired of working against somepony who seems to want the same thing as myself. Now, do you wish for everypony to hear us, or would you rather discuss this in private, your majesty?”
At least the use of the title partially mollifies the princess, seeing that it wasn't just some upstart noble with a foalish plan and mulish demeanor. Forcing a wave of magic through her horn, she scans the surrounding area, trying to pick up any residual magicks that might be out of place. Aside from some vocal null field just on the inside of the barely lit doorway, nothing appears out of place. And so she enters, closing the door behind her with an ominous croak.
A soft glow spills from a windowed office a few yards down the narrow mouth of the tunnel. If she was just a normal pony, the princess would have likely only seen the empty mouth of the hallway, a closed utility door on the right with a sign saying 'Maintenance' and the intimidating descent into utter darkness of the unlit undercity.
But born for the night, the princess could see as clearly as in daylight, picking out the little chalkboard on the wall with duty rosters, the unlit wall sconces, and a note for others to check the drain grates tonight. Everypony was sent off, busy, and the bend deeper into the twisting innards connecting to the Canterlot Caverns was utterly silent aside from the occasional drip of condensing moisture.
Neighsay opens the door to the office and slips inside before drawing the slatted blinds. “Lets not tarry, princess. We don't have all the time in the world, and I'm quite sure that both yourself and I will be missed.”
Luna slips from her disguise in a flicker of distorted darkness, and trots into the simple office just as Neighsay lights a small oil lamp on an oaken desk with a long stemmed match. “Well?”
“The Supervisor here isn't a Unicorn, so we have to use more primitive methods. And speaking of primitive methods.” Neighsay takes in a sharp breath as if to contain himself before taking a seat at the simple desk cluttered with papers. “In the future, would you kindly refrain from putting all my plans to the torch before you care to find out what they are?”
'LUNA!'
The flash in the back of the Alicorn's mind merges with a distinctly lupine snarl that catches in her throat, “What?”
“Since this whole incident started three months ago, you've contributed little but operating entirely unilaterally like a foa-”
“I don't have time at this moment.” Luna snarls, ear twitching as she growls into the darkness.
Taken aback, the Unicorn's lip curls into a dissatisfied sneer, “Don't have ti-”
“Not you, chancellor.” Luna sharply holds up a hoof and then gingerly touches her temple. The bass growl of a familiar male voice echoes around her skull like an echo chamber, making the Alicorn close her eyes at the intrusion. Horus's frustrated growl rolls like a petulant thundercloud, albeit it one that she could do little to dispel.
'You had better not be sleeping or trying to avoid me, Luna. This isn't like one of your idle questions or flights of fancy!'
'I'm in a meeting,' she mentally spits back, feeling the throb and some surging sensation of irritation.
'Might I remind you, since you've battered your way into my affairs, I've been doing little but meetings and appointments.' the Primarch's growl echoes like a timberwolf's bark, 'We have to accelerate our timetable. '
'Do pray tell when-'
“Princess Luna .” Neighsay inhales sharply, eyes hooded and the clear unamused scowl plastered on his narrow muzzle. “Times have changed, but we both want what's best for Ponykind. Much to the frustration of those who do not share our Equestrian values.”
“So does that include Princess Twilight Sparkle?” The venom practically drips from her lips, partially in frustration and partially exuded from another source. One only she seemed to know as the hammering pulse in the base of her left wing flares to life. It was sympathetic, but her eye twitches regardless, betraying the pain though perhaps masked for wrath.
Neighsay's pinched face pulls even more gaunt, “If she thinks that we should lower our guard against the foreign hordes battering at the gates to our kingdom, yes.”
The answer wasn't what she expected. Luna blinks, trying to hide some of the surprise at his answer. “You speak traces of treason, Chancellor.” Luna warns, though she can't suppress all of her surprise. “And you place your own authority in a compromising position.”
The Unicorn stallion locks eyes with her, sharp blue eyes staring into hers for a few uncomfortable moments. But it spoke as clearly as he did, “For the good of Ponykind, that's an acceptable risk. And one that you know clearly.”
An uncomfortable silence falls between them, turning the discussion into a staring match. The Princess circles, taking a seat on a small stool next to an architectural easel bearing a marked out map of the city maintenance tunnels and caves.
Luna breaks the stare first, closing her eyes and concentrating at the thunderous beat deep in her skull. 'Horus, I have to deal with an important meeting. We will speak soon.'
There's no affirmation but what feels like a grating landslide. Shaking off the result of turning away the Lupercal, a racing heart and hitched breath, she fights to reopen her eyes.
“Princess?” Neighsay calls, but it's different than before. His gaze looks down, peering at something. Only dimly does she become aware of her quaking left hoof, spasming and trembling out of control as it curls up like she was reflexively trying to grip something.
“W-we are f-fine.” Luna chokes out, willing her limb to stop moving as she stares the Unicorn down, “But if you do not get to the point quickly, Chancellor...” she barely had time to register what slipped from her muzzle.
Neighsay's head rears back as he snorts. “That, Princess, is among the issues we're here to talk about this evening.” he shakes his head and quickly points to the rows of books, bundles of maps, and then the enormous architectural plan of Canterlot just a few hooflengths away. “Do give us some credit, advancements and progress has been made since last you were in control of the kingdom.”
Despite the rebuke, the Alicorn settles into her less comfortable seat and wrinkles her nose. “Is that so?” She might have sprang to her hooves and left in a fury had she not been trying to steady her still shivering forehoof.
“It is.” Neighsay continues, eyes quickly darting to a clock nestled in the corner of the cluttered office. “I couldn't be the only pony to notice that things are changing. And I'm not the only pony that has access to all the information coming in from the San Palamino listening station. Eventually the likes of Twilight Sparkle or more seditious ponies will put the pieces together. Then, dragons, griffons, changelings, and worse will come after what we have discovered. In doing so, they will drag down everything we hoped to build. They will corrupt all our values, turn them against us, and use it for their own ends. They are functionally incapable of what we espouse!”
He steadies himself again, having worked himself into something of a fugue. Smoothing the facings of his cloak and unruffling the collar, he looks at the silent Princess. “And your grand-standing and vocal proclamations, claiming to create an order to deal with such important matters, they will be drawn to it. They are always drawn to power. Twilight Sparkle had it written in her memoirs, two students listed chatter from unknown sources at the exact same time in regular intervals. Even the existence of the Lumin Mirror came to light... how many other Equestrian secrets are going to be thrown into the spotlight, now that so many others are waiting to pounce on us under the guise of 'Friendship'?”
And like a veil lifting, Luna could see past the pomp and fury to something else. “So thou tried to silence them? You had Twilight's books removed, her school shut down, and tried to stop the research ponies from publicly revealing their discovery.” She eyes him again.
Neighsay leans forward, fishing out a folio of papers from under the folds of his cloak and passing them to Luna. The Alicorn takes them from his arcane grasp as he simply continues, “Celestia has always kept these issues quiet, and their knowledge confined to a need-to-know basis. We had expected this to be handled in much the same way, delicately and above all else, discreetly.”
Taking the papers, she flips through them, seeing a full dossier of work done on attempting to translate the San Palamino station's recordings.
“The nightmares could have been explained, the Lumin Mirror was just one of hundreds of similar artifacts, but the Knight of the Moon, Twilight Sparkle's letters, the University project, and these hearings are all making this unmanageable. Your sister was to be informed tomorrow afternoon, after we could pass some of our decisions which would have quietened this all.”
“Sister could not handle Horus, or the issues within Our domain.” Luna re-emphasizes, her eyes gliding across page after page of conjecture from a panel of linguistic experts.
“You arguments were convincing, yes. But other ponies don't know. And they don't need too. But I wanted more proof before we passed any judgment on the Knights of the Moon, or anything in this debacle.” He groans, “But if it's even half as dangerous as you say, and creatures like Discord are involved, then we must have an organized and well informed response plan.”
Luna harrumphs, “You wanted control of all the facto-” It seems to strike her all at once, “The San Palamino project was never in jeopardy, was it?”
Neighsay snorts derisively and leans back in the plush seat, “Of course not.” he tents his forehooves, looking over them impassively, “The information would be placed in a vault until a competent team of specialists could be assembled to analyze just what we're dealing with. Then the team, including all present staff, would be re-allocated to another experimental research project with more oversight by Canterlot University, and ultimately turned over to Princess Celestia.”
“Thou wouldst turn this into a black project under your purview?” Luna smirks, seeing the look of irritation flicker across Neighsay's face. She'd gotten close with that. “Expand their budget, quietly build your own 'response'.”
“I'll have you know, a full scientific and academic assessment team is well within our mandates, Princess Luna.”
Neighsay's reply is almost cleaved into the moment it leaves his muzzle, “Yes, and it would almost certainly have been discovered if one of Sisters prized pupils were so close to the academic community. But if she were to suffer a falling out with the Academic community.” She lets the rest go unsaid.
Though covered in his deep crimson cloak, Luna could see the nearly imperceptible tensing in his neck and jawline. Neighsay remains silent as the Princess laughs, seeing the unseen threads unraveling.
“Twilight's school of friendship, her notes, her refusal to testify against Us. All of that was your doing to keep her from becoming involved in something that Sister would likely deem important.”
“She'd betray Equestria's secrets, even unintentionally.” Neighsay shifts forward, glaring at the Princess who smirks even as another thunderous pulse in the base of her horn sends prickling claws of pain radiating down her neck. “This cannot be left up to lesser minds or lesser ponies. We need the best to look at this from every angle without being sabotaged by the likes of others who would see Ponies brought under their heels and hooves. We cannot let that happen. None but the Crown of Equestria should wield that kind of leverage and power, only it can be trusted.”
Instead of bristling at the perceived insult, knowing full well that 'The Equestrian Crown' has been Celestia alone for a millennia, Luna sucks in a breath at the same time that the chancellor takes a hesitant step forward. She only halts when seeing his shakily drawn breath.
Neighsay nerves himself up for what was no doubt going to be a bitter request. “You are unpredictable, volatile, headstrong, stubborn, and aggressive. You have belligerently stymied our attempts at keeping the situation contained, and therefor nearly revealed all of our safeguards. But you are also, in a sense, correct. Princess Luna, if Ponykind is to get through this and emerge in a position of strength, we cannot continue on this course. Understand that tomorrow will be an exercise in, as the ancient ponish goes, quid-pro-quo.”
The Unicorn stallion stiffens for a moment, then bows his head, following it with a genuflection on the cold office floor. “I implore you, help us Princess Luna, you are our only hope.”
The Primarch's eyes refocus, washing away the small hints of glassiness obscuring the gold visage. Marr straightens further, reflexively flinching away at the merest sensation of the Warmaster's rising choler.
“She's in a meeting.” he sneers mockingly, lifting the corner of his lip and staring down at the unfortunate duo. Captain Loken stands next to Marr, sharing the moment of uncomfortable awkwardness as their Warmaster positively bristled. “Our little fairytale princess is in a 'meeting', and us-” He juts out his chin and towers over the 10th company's captain. “apparently we're on our way to some picnic in the outer rim. Captain Loken.”
“Yes, Commander?” Loken's eyes peer unfalteringly ahead, seemingly inured to the Warmaster's flinty glare.
“Is there any sign of other legion vessels besides our own?”
The question was entirely rhetorical. Even a cursory glance at the rapidly flickering bank of hololithic projections at the center of the Vengeful Spirit's strategium shows the small foreign vessel alongside the behemoth. “Just one of the third legion's frigates, sir, the Eagles Reach .”
“Any other replies to our requests for emissaries, Captain Marr?”
Snapping out of the momentary stupor, Marr takes a sharp breath. “Commander,we have replies of assent from multiple legions, but only the third has arrived with a delegation.”
“Strange, is it not?” Horus takes a long breath through his nostrils. Seeing the look of confusion from Marr and blank stare of Loken, Horus continues, “Two legions are currently embattled in the Auritian debacle, and only one has managed to send representatives when I call. We've passed close enough to Chogoris that the Warhawk should have sent outriders, even in his absence. And we're already well past the boarders of my brother's fanciful realm of Ultramar.”
“Sir,” Loken twitches his cheek and turns, hearing the main doors to the bridge hiss open. “To be fair, Angeron's legion has become somewhat more decentralized as of late. The majority of the White Scars legion are at Chondax, and the Ultramarines-”
“Have never seen eye to eye with us after Ulanor.” Horus redirects with a scowl, sweeping his purple cloak back, wearing only the thick Garou pelt and the tidy grey officers uniform denoting his 63rd expeditionary force. “He tasks us, this is his petty revenge: to put us in a queue and wait until he deems it necessary. And I will not push... no, not for now.” he stalks the tall railings as a cluster of Horusian legionnaires comes into view.
Horus grips the rail, overlooking the whole of the enormous seat of power. Spotting both Torgaddon and the amethyst clad delegation. “But at least I can count on one of my brothers when I need him.” Though muttered seemingly to himself, there was no way the astartes genhanced hearing or preysense couldn't pick that up.
Spotting the gaunt, sallow figure striding next to the obviously uncomfortable Captain Torgaddon, Horus cracks a smile and leans a little more heavily on the plasteel railing. Few would be able to see past the facade, “Lieutenant commander Fabius, I trust my captain has welcomed you to the Vengeful Spirit properly?”
Marr could hear the sharp Terran accent well before the astartes could stride up the curving staircase. “He has, Lord Warmaster. Fulgrim sends his greetings and wishes you to know that he and the Pride of the Emperor will be underway just as soon as the Auritian issue is remedied.”
Horus's smile never falters, but he follows the Emperor's Children's process up the stairwell before slowly turning to greet him at the summit.
“That's comforting.”
Marr merely shoots a quizzical look to Loken. The fellow captain catches the glance, both knowing the unasked question. The Auritian campaign was a mess, with some Imperial analysts predicting a two year campaign of compliance, carried out by both the Emperors Children and World Eaters. It was hard to see any primarch, let alone Fulgrim, leaving a task undone.
They both look to the top of the steps, but only the two stately banners of red and white poke up above floor level.
“But you had requested my presence, and I am here to serve in any capacity you desire, lord.” Fabius steps onto the strategium's main deck and smiles. It's not a pleasant look, more teeth locked into a rictus grin than genuine gleam. “But I do come bearing dispatches from the Auritian front, and information ahead of a more practical delegation.”
Fabius retrieves a sizable onyx data slate from a hip pouch, but tucks it under his arm just long enough to retrieve a small box. It didn't escape the notice of the Spirit's warden terminators, the slight buzz of their power armor telegraphing their readied response to the sudden motion. The tiny marble box gleams of white marble inlaid with streaks of onyx, banded on its edges with gold. “My lord Fulgrim also wished to impart upon you his personal correspondence, and a token of his continued esteem and friendship.”
The Emperors Children Chief apothecary presents them to Horus who nods his thanks magnanimously, though Marr could see it starting to fray around the edges.
“I always value my brothers wise council. Now, I'm quite sure that you have much to do. I do believe you know of our current situation?” Horus begins to open the box.
“Yes, Lord Warmaster. The loss of Chief Apothecary Vaddon has been related to us, as is the incident surrounding Davin. If I may-” Marr's attention slowly strains towards the small object Horus had grasped and raised from the box.
It was a small length of perfect platinum chain, braided like a cord and suspending a partially convex plate of aged seagold. From here, Marr barely catches a glint of an animal form carved into its surface. An ox, or perhaps some other bovine descendant.
“Tybalt?” Loken asks, catching Marr's attention. He follows his fellow captain's gaze to his own bracer, where he'd unknowingly begun tracing his armored fingers over the silver half moon sigil.
“Is. That. So." Horus's deep guttural voice snaps him out of the momentary lapse, like he'd fallen asleep and been awoken by an alarm.
“Yes, the vast majority of the Rout have already gathered at Beta Garmon.”
The smile that had so recently graced Horus Lupercal's face was gone, replaced by the same snarl as moments before.
“Is that so.” Horus repeats to himself, turning as he tucks the box and messenger packet into his coat pocket and returns to his rarely-used command throne. “Lieutenant Commander Fabius, I'm sure you have much to get acquainted with. I'm sure captain Torgaddon can lead you to the Medicae at once while your glory squad settles in.” His terminator wardens still make themselves known, pointedly watching both Fabius and his whole squad.
“Lord Warmaster,” Fabius looks on as Horus returns to his seat of authority, “should I not inspect your own wound fir-”
“I'll be fine, apothecary.” Horus grunts, seizing the handle of something hidden just behind the imposing high-backed throne. His left hand tightens fiercely on red leather cords, shaking to betray the strength that would have shattered steel. “I have other matters to attend to.”
Fabius only nods, and Marr feels the uncomfortable shiver of someone watching him. Eyes shooting up, he spots Fabius staring straight at him. Or, more specifically, at his silver-embossed bracer.
“Commander?” Loken says, watching as Horus drags World Breaker from behind the throne and hoists it to his shoulder like an ancient athlete.
“Take command of the bridge, Captain Loken. I will be back shortly. It seems that I have a meeting now, as well.” Stalking off, strides eating up ground as a practical thundercloud emanated from the Warmaster, Marr found himself already following after before he could register doing it. A faint hiss came from the Warmaster's lips as he quietly mutters to himself, “You're not the only one enduring 'meetings' with so-called important people, you miserable malady of a mare.”
Amid the starry congregation, small specks of light dance and wink into and out of existence. Despite the seemingly random patterns woven among the spheres, there was a very real rhythm at work driving the spectacle onward.
The Guardian stares at the pulsing blue-white light silhouetting the curvature of Theta-Garmon II, the soft green and white wisps of the gas giant's upper troposphere barely touched by the dawning light of the somber star. Here, one could stand in utter silence as if hovering in the emptiness. Not a word passes his lips unless necessary, and alone with his thoughts, none was needed. He spots a dull grey-white object, a shape as insignificant as a child's model from this distance. Instead, a tightened grip on the sheathed hilt of Miseracordia betrays more than any silently observing could have hoped.
Hrafnkel hangs between himself and the blue hued horizon like a beast trying to interpose itself between another predator and its prey. But Theta-Garmon was no prey. The sharp glint of orbital star forts and space elevators bristling with armaments to protect battlefleet Solar's fleetworks were formidable, and the Sixth's flagship had others in mind.
Sanctioned meat. The Wolf King would see it as nothing else.
Other ships gather above the curve of the horizon, bloated Imperial Army mass conveyors and sharp geometrical mechanicum barques float near the largest star forts while the grey plated sharks of the Rout ply the void between, swarming around the larger Gloriana's flanks. Dozens of heavy cruisers, war galleons, and their trailing sliver-like escorts shine as they're caught by the glow of Theta-Garmon's bright blue-tinted star.
Hundreds of ships carrying thousands of men, women, and astartes gather at the Gateway to Terra.
All because of one creature's boundless hubris.
A quiet mechanical chirp echoes like a gunshot in the observatory tower. The gold-clad guardian doesn't even glance down as he activates a wrist mounted vox splicer. A tinny voice whispers from the other side, “Lord Valdor, hololith-transmission incoming.”
“Reroute to the observation deck main display.” Constantin Valdor unblinkingly commands, lifting his chin up, and for once, sliding his hand from the hilt of his gilded dagger to the rolled up stasis case on his hip. His armored fingers trace the Imperial Signet as he turns away from the window to face the center of the room. A flicker of blue light momentarily scars the unmarred disc of unbroken obsidian before small motes of light begin to gather in a misty cloud.
“-way with you, I will have words with my father's keeper!” the figure waves a hand dismissively, cutting off a few digits at the edge of the image field with the wild gesture.
It wasn't the Wolf King.
There's no spark of mischief, or the constant roam of the figure he expected, but the steely glare of golden disapproval.
“Warmaster Lupercal,” Valdor interjects as Horus rounds on him, yet calmly ignores the daggers cast by the primarch. He waits, knowing full well that there would be a delay in the transmission. “To what do I owe this unexpected interruption?”
“You damned well know, Valdor! What's this edict about Magnus I've been hearing of??”
Valdor watches Horus, seeing the flicker of anger in his eyes despite the imperfect flickers occasionally outlining his unshaven features. Cold green eyes pick out every imperfection beyond the transmission; his slight lean to the left while World Breaker rests on his shoulder, the lingering pull of a snarl on his lips, and the start of a hairline once again adorning his crown.
Valdor's palm rests on the Imperialis signet adoring the stasis case. “It's not a matter of edicts. Nikea was the Emperor's edict, this is his censure for an act of betrayal.”
“Betrayal, is it?” Horus says after a few telling seconds, yet the pause stole none of the heat from his near frothing bark. “Speaking of betrayal, did you get my reports of Lorgar's wayward legion?”
“The actions of the seventeenth legions are not at issue here, the disobedience of the fifteenth legion must be accounted for.”
“Did you hear me or not, Valdor?!”
The Captain-general unblinkly replies, “I have collected your reports, yes. They will be investigated in due course. But for the moment, there are more immediate issues that the Emperor must deal with.”
“Father, or you?” Horus snarls, “Is it true, Custodian? Is my brother there, conspiring with you?”
“The Wolf King is not currently present.” a flickering rune of an incoming transmission wants to call him a liar. Beneath the disembodied image of the Warmaster, a ident string belonging to the Hrafnkel's sanctum flickers into being.
After the transmission pause, Horus only growls, “But he is there.”
“Yes.”
Valdor's blase reply receives the same stony silence, though Horus's cheek twitches. “You're dedicated to prosecuting this, then? Magnus did what he could to help defend against an enemy of the Imperium.”
“All of us are sworn to defend against the enemies of the Imperium, Lupercal. Magnus did so in a manner unlawful and unju-”
“Fine, he helped defend against an enemy of mine .” Horus snarls more openly, taking a step forward as if to physically close the distance between them. The illusion may have even worked against lesser men, just as a lesser man may not have noticed the theatrical pause to catch them mid-sentence. “Magnus may be one of the few that can drag back Erebus by his collar for what he's done to me .”
“What complications you have suffered are immaterial. Imperial writ must be followed.” Valdor's impassive cadence draws not only the evident ire of Horus, but a renewed pinging flash of runes from the Hrafnkel . “By the word and the will of the Master of Mankind, Imperatoris, Terra Regnum, it is hereby decreed that Magnus, primarch of the fifteenth legiones astartes, be brought forth in censure and bound by law to stand before the Throne Imperial of Terra, there to answer-”
“Do not fling exposition at me like I haven't heard it before, Custodian.” Horus snorts, “Here is an equally important decree, lets see if you can guess who spoke it, 'I name you Warmaster, and from this day forth, all of my armies and generals shall take orders from you as if the words came from mine own mouth.' Now, do you recognize those words, Custodian?”
“Yes, Horus.” There's hardly a pause, and nothing more than the same numb look of detachment in the Custodus Captain-General's eyes, “And it is immaterial. This is a direct order from your Emperor. You will obey, and you will defer to Leman Russ and myself on this matter. We have been charged with the manner of enacting censu-”
“I WILL DO NO SUCH THING! ” Horus spins the enormous mace on his shoulder, slamming it down tip first into the ground on the Vengeful Spirit , getting a spark and flicker of the hololith along with a hollow 'bang' robbed of its power by the distance. “I am the Warmaster! I was entrusted with His will! I will spell it out for you once, Custodian, so listen carefully. I. Am. His. Will.”
“I am His spear and his will, Horus. You are His proxy in military matters, not in matters of state. I am enacting the will of the Imperial council, and you will not interfere in the lawful prosecution of our duties. Not mine, nor Russ's in this. The matter is closed. You will not overstep your mandate as given to you by the Emperor, beloved by all.”
Whether a trick of the light or something more, the Warmaster's eyes flash a pale white corresponding to a flush of his pallid face. “You willfully defy me, Custodian?”
“No.” Valdor blinks just once, his grasp once more passing from the imperial signet to the hilt of his dagger. “It is impossible for me to defy the will of someone who has no authority over me. The Legio Custodes does not recognize the station of Warmaster as we are commanded by the Master of Mankind directly. We have no need of a proxy's faulty interpretation.”
“Damn you and your stubborn streak, Valdor! I give you information that is leagues more important than your pursuit of a petty quarrel, and what do you do but spit in my face!” Horus's red flush of anger never recedes, it grows even more pronounced, as does the quiet hiss of a voice in the background.
Valdor was all but certain he heard one of the Warmaster's subordinates counseling calm, only to be shunted away as Horus's grip tightens with a crackle around the pommel of World Breaker, tracing his hands over enormous mace's wire bound leather.
For all his prowess and glory, this was anything but unexpected. Valdor chances a glance at the still flashing ident trying to capture his attention, though that in itself was enough to draw a base lupine growl from the face a half-galaxy away.
“Warmaster, it is a fundamental mistake to believe yourself a competent and capable intercessor on such matters. You would be better served doing your duty in the Great Crusade and leaving such matters of governance to those made to enact it.”
The reply is snarling and immediate, spittle flecked and wrothful, “Then why don't you practice doing your damned duties and string up a real criminal like Erebus? But no. Here you are, rooting around in the hopes we wouldn't notice you slipping in like a thief to enact your own petty little plots!”
For once in what felt like decades, the Custodian Captain-General sighs. The slow crawl of what approaches a weary and unamused grimace shuffles across his sharp Eurasian face. “You are being an obstinate child, Horus. With all the stubbornness, and even less wisdom, in your misplaced ire. We obey, as should you. Learn your place, Sedecim.”
With a roar of anger, the Warmaster stalks as close to the edge of the projector as he can, picking up the towering presence as if staring into the Custode's eyes with a glower to quail tyrants and kings. Yet Valdor's impassive eyes merely trace the movements with detached dismissal. “One of these days,” Horus snarls, keeping his voice low and evidently personal, “I will break your blustering ego, or I will break your neck. Whichever comes first.”
The air shudders, as if it heard the Warmaster's threats, before suddenly flickering and dying.
The emblem for the Hrafnkel brightens for a moment, and fades. Valdor turns his back on the obsidian disc, going back to watching the last stages of replenishment. His attention falls on a trio of veridian hued cruisers among the shark-like escorts of the Rout, each bears the golden Eye of Terra on their wedge-shaped bows.
“Valdor to Oriflamme command,” the vox chirps a musical note of acknowledgement, “set a tracking and secondary firing solution on the squadron belonging to the sixteenth legion garrison fleet. Appraise me if they make any sudden alterations.” a reply chime wordlessly affirms the order a moment later before plunging the observation deck into silence.
Tybalt Marr watched his gene-father shaking and quivering as he clasped his hand around the wire-bound heft of the enormous mace in his grasp. It wasn't wise to interrupt, not like this. A thought evidently shared by the rest of the small coterie of astropath attendants standing at the edges of the raised dais.
The astrotelepathic relay and long-range communication hub was typically plunged into the unnerving silence, ignorant of the sleep-tremors of the astropathic choir in their sensory deprivation tanks, but this was different.
The Lupercal's broad back continues to quake as if shocked by a bolt of lightning for a few unsettling moments more, before finally he heaves a deep breath and speaks as if at a great distance.
"You have five minutes, and if you do not heed me, I'm going to wring your conveniently sized neck."
A measured female voice calls from the periphery. “Commander?” Ing Mae Sing, mistress of the astropaths, calls only for Horus's hand to shoot up and silence her with a single gesture.
"Not. You." Horus hisses through clenched teeth, keeping his hand upraised for a moment longer before slowly letting it rest on World Breaker's pommel. The willowy woman merely halts and bows her head before retreating towards the shadowy outlier of the room.
Marr covertly taps the vox-bead again, willing an absent Tarik Torgaddon to recognize the wordless series of vox-pops directed towards him. It was safer than confronting the shivering primarch, whose breaths only just started to lose its snarling edge. Even now, it was hard to miss the squirm of the hairless figures in the tank as if trying to shy away from his anger.
Damn it Tarik, aren't you done with our guests yet?
The center of the communication hub was usually devoid of anything but unmarred onyx discs, and Marr had already spoken up once and been waved away. An awkward silence fills the chamber, not helped at the Warmaster's silence as he stares blankly into the void left by the Custode's Captain-General.
In the brief respite that follows, Horus's voice comes out clear. “You are in my confidence, Tybalt. So confide: what say you?”
Thrown for a moment, the captain blinks and clears his throat. He wasn't mourneval, this was unexpected. Not to mention, improper. “Commander-”
“Off the record, Tybalt. No formalities.” The primarch turns his hulking frame just enough to glimpse Marr from the corner of his eye. The profile view was theatrical, like some brooding protagonist from an ancient playhouse operatic.
“Horus,” Marr swallows down the odd sense from that address, “Erebus is still a problem but our trail is cold. Magnus seems to be an ally, and one we may need to hunt down Erebus's... witchcraft.” The astartes reflexively bites his tongue, knowing the implications of what they needed as well. “This feels inopportune, perhaps even instigated by Erebus as a fall-back to eliminate a threat. But I do believe that the Captain-General will deal with this fairly. We should remain on course for our own objective. Which would be easier if you told us what that is.”
"You know precisely what our objective is, but I will not go about informing every rating and servitor about it. Only I need to know, everyone else need only obey." Horus grunts, taking that into consideration before looking more directly at Marr. “Would it surprise you that Valdor and I rarely see eye to eye? Or that while he avows neutrality, I placed Abaddon in the background to ensure that Valdor's golden puppets wouldn't harass Magnus at Ullanor?”
“I can't imagine Abaddon was happy with that.”
“No, he wasn't. And still isn't. But it was necessary.” The Warmaster breathes a breathy sigh and straightens up, rolling his left shoulder with a twitch, “Much of being a Warmaster is doing what is necessary, and delegating responsibility to others. But I am not a man of inaction, Tybalt. I am not a man content to sit here and have others do all my work for me.”
“Commander.” Marr nods respectfully, seeing the Warmaster's change of mood, but it wasn't far removed from before.
The anger still lingers in his golden eyes as Horus turns, “Mistress Sing,” he glances at the smooth skinned willowy figure cloaked in the gaudy trappings of a chief astropath, “Do forgive my roughness earlier, Cthonic blood runs hot. But, would you kindly send another message, one to all of my sons that they are to await my instructions. War footing.”
While the astropath nods, Marr merely asks, “The whole legion?”
Horus merely grins toothily, “Everyone.” The false grin fades, showing the same barely suppressed anger. “Marr, gather my mourneval and meet me in the strategium. I'll be with them presently. I have someone else to inform before this is set in motion.”
Marr nods quickly turning on his heel and striding past the entombed figures of the sleeping astropaths. They consistently unnerved him, open-mouthed husks asleep and unaware. Emaciated, sickly, laying in tangles of wires in bilious amnion or covered beneath thin vellum-skin sheets as if grown from an artificial womb.
As the door closes, the sensation doesn't quiet disappear. A prickling sensation traces up his spine. Adrenal stims course through his system as he feels the distinct sensation of eyes tracing his every moment. He turns, seeing only the empty plasteel grey hallway.
He blinks for a moment, looking around, smelling the faint iron-stink of rust and decay. Marr snuffs, clearing his nostrils in a moment and striding back down the hall and headed back to the strategium. He taps his vox-bead, “Garviel, Tarik, the Commander wants to see us in the strategium immediately.”
After a second, he hears two pops.
“Acknowledged, Marr.”
Tarik grins a little, “Hear ya' Tibs, just on my way out of the apothecarion.” With a buzzing pop, the vox goes silent and once more he's assailed with the sound of humming machines and medicae personnel.
"Please don't call me that again, Tarik."
"No promises."
The second company captain keeps the grin on his face, though it lacked the warmth of his more normal composure as he steals a sideways glance past the occupied medical cot and towards the clear glass walls looking out over a bustling hallway. Green and white coated mortal crew pass by, often enough a medicae servitor shuffles by with its assortment of bladed and needle-like protrusions flicking in the sterile air. It all reeked of the dead bio-scrubber tang that permeated the Vengeful Spirit's medical and research decks.
Tarik catches the amethyst armored figure conversing with interim chief apothecary Logaan, and the dark-haired chief geneticist whose name, for the life of him, he couldn't recall.
“So,” The legionnaire occupying the medica slab says with a wary grin and a lofted brow. “What brings one of the vaunted mourneval captains down to visit one so lowly as I?”
Tarik returns his gaze to the legionnaire. He was stripped out of his armor, new synthskin covering a mass of mottled purple and yellow tissue at the end of a short stump that was all that remained of his left arm. The sergeant still bore the gang-markings of Cthonia, a few glyphs along the left side of his neck, and splotched ugly shapes along the skin of his pectoral where the legion's gene-alteration had stretched it beyond its natural limit.
“What, can't a captain come and see one of the glorious victors of the assault on the Spirit ?” Tarik lofts a brow and feigns offence.
The shark-like grin doesn't fade from the legionnaire, “That's usually a lieutenant's responsibility, or a company captain, innit?”
“Usually. But given what's left of your company, I don't see that happening in the near future, Grael.” Tarik shrugs. "You?"
Sergeant Grael's grin slips a bit, “No.” he shuffles, pulling himself up with his good arm and exposing the morass of new scar tissue across his abdomen. “Not unless the Warmaster starts appointing new officers. And, correct me if I'm wrong-” he pauses just long enough to let Targaddon interrupt if he wanted. “That would leave me as the ranking officer of the twenty-fifth company, right?”
“Sergeant to captain is a bit of a jump, even if you can count what's left of the company on your fingers.” Targaddon blinks, grimacing through a sheepish grin, “Well I can, at least. You're still a bit short.”
“Seems so, captain.” The legionnaire says and then narrows his eyes sharply. “So I take it you want something else while you're here.”
“Well, so long as I am here, Grael,” Torgaddon smirks a bit, “How about doing me a favor? I'm sure I can bring up your unique position with the Warmaster. You did survive, and even got one of the Word Bearer bastards, from what I heard.”
“Tried to gut me after a sucker punch in the hall,” Grael mutters, “Let me guess: you want me to keep an eye on the Peacock over there?” he pointedly looks through the clear glass panels at the purple-clad Fabius in his little gathering.
Torgaddon follows his gaze and smiles, “Maybe.”
“Sure. You're not the first to ask.” Grael reclined again and stares hard at the captain, “I think I can do that for you, Tarik. You can count on me.”
Torgaddon smiles, standing and giving the legionnaire a slight punch on his good shoulder. “Good.” It was quick enough to hide the small communicator that suddenly slipped in the golds of the green-grey blanket as the captain made his way to the sliding glass door.
Chapter 9: The Black Throne
Luna quickly shuts the door and takes a breath, sucking the misty vapours from the humid evening air to provide some modicum of calm. But all too soon, the peaceful sensation flees from her with a single insistent whisper in the back of her skull.
Not now, I have enough of a headache.
She thought mostly to herself, though the essence of her irritation still seeped out as a low harrumph. She'd only just finished dealing with Neighsay, there's about a dozen letters to write and more than a few events to plan. Yet the moment she'd turned her back on the moss covered doorway, somepony else was clamouring for her attention.
And this one seemed insistent as it bubbles up with a note of irritation.
Taking a quick breath and keeping her hooves spread wide enough to support her in her dozy-state, she closes her eyes and lets her consciousness drift. A familiar dark dreamscape confronts her. The tapestry of falling dreams and star-spun consciousness in the dark suddenly seems inconsequential next to the familiar cold orb burning on the horizon.
She approaches the pulsing incandescent sphere, and the voice hits her like a hammer.
“You have been ignoring me, Little Moon. I have been patient, but there is something I want you to see. Something I wish you to hear, and know, so that you may understand the measure of my resolve. For your actions against Erebus, against the warp-spawned beasts-”
“Horus?” She asks aloud, but if he hears her, he certainly isn't listening. The Lupercal's voice is sharp, irritated, and commanding. It brooks no disobedience, no delay, as hard as rock and impersonal as unforged iron.
“For your assistance, this is a measure of my gratitude, let there be no mistake that you are in my confidence.”
“Just let me get back ho-”
And through the glint of a hazy orb she glimpses another half-dream. And what she sees steals the breath from her lungs.
The world that made itself known to her was little but a blur of moving shapes and vivid light, interspersed by a chorus of indistinct voices. A rhythmic thrum shivers through her frame, deep and basal like the heartbeat of the world. The sickly unnatural scent of oils and an acrid stink assaults the princess, though something whispers that they were 'exhaust fumes' and 'machine oil.'
And after a blink she knew she wasn't in Canterlot.... or Equestria.
She was at the back of some cavernous hold, seated in a high backed throne of obsidian presiding over what could only be called an unnatural host in some great throne room ripped from the pits of Tartarus. Around her is an impenetrable mass of giants, insectoid creatures, masked horrors, armoured denizens, robed scribes, and emaciated forms clutching golden fetish staffs stretching as far as the eye could see while bathed in the light of unnatural green radiance or backlit by a myriad of sickly, cold, and unfamiliar stars. All gather in a wide circle dozens deep radiating away from the black throne's raised dais.
At the foot of the throne, clad in a rainbow assortment of cloaks and plumes, are five figures that stand facing her.
No. Facing him .
“Horus?”
Her mind quickly puts the pieces together, and her blood seems to freeze as she sees visages of her friend so clearly etched on that of three of them. Blue eyes, green, grey... that wasn't right. No gold. None were like him. But they had to be related, his 'vaunted' sons. A strange feeling stirs in her breast at that, like ruffled feathers.
Silence.
The voice in her head booms loudly, sharp but not intrinsically unkind.
“Vakt boldi, Malek.” A wet and rasping voice wheezes from nearby, hidden in the lee of the throne. Luna catches a glimpse of the twisted form from the corner of her eye. It's bent awkwardly to one and heavily stooped, clutching a silver cane for support, and garbed in thick furs complete with a decapitated wolf head resting on its shoulder.
The words come out jumbled as a sound, but seem to decipher themselves in her head. 'It is time, my Lord.'
“So it is, Mal. So it is.” Comes the deep voice as it takes in a breath.
Horus grips the edge of the throne, looking over the congregation with an Imperious air quite at odds with the proud and jocular figure Luna had found in the depths of the dreamscape those months ago.
From the tilt of the chin, to the brooding silence, it felt like she was on stage. It was a role. A play, even if it was an unfamiliar one.
Her courts were cold, pretend, as much for obligatory show as efficacy. Canterlot's halls were abandoned at midnight and left to the skeleton troop of required guards attending her on most nights, leaving the Evening Court in utter silence. The intangible court of Night in her subjects dreams always yielded more than sitting aloof and proper in her subservient throne in Canterlot Castle.
This was not like her court. This wasn't like it at all. She could only watch as the jostling crowds knelt or saluted with arms crossed over breasts or raised in the air. It was a marvelous sight, both terrible and radiant as her heart skips a beat.
And thus Horus spoke.
“My sons. My friends. My compatriots in this, our Great Crusade. Upon this momentous day, I welcome you all.”
A shiver courses through her frame. Unlike her sister who was afforded a deep and abiding respect and obedience through love and affection, she sees a sea of flinty steel staring up in a mixture of fear and unrestrained awe.
“For those of you occupied in your respective war zones, for your obedience you have my gratitude. I promise, I shall not take up too much of your time.”
Horus makes a show of panning his gaze across the innumerable cohort, eyes meeting many as thronging clusters of the lesser beings could only look down instead of meet his gaze. But when they find his sons, they only stand taller and more pronounced.
“I am sure some of you have heard rumors and whispers of our deployments over these past few months since the fight on Davin. I will say now what I said then, Erebus, a commander of the Word Bearers did indeed turn on us with the intent to commit murder. To compound these problems, our enemy has dispatched a call to the Emperor's Custodian Guard, claiming wrongdoing on the part of Primarch Magnus the Red of Prospero, and his legion.” He draws a long and dramatic sigh, moderating his voice to a disappointed dirge, “To this end, a censure force is being assembled under Leman Russ and Constantin Valdor as we speak. Can you confirm this, Consul Kurn?”
One of the wavering ghostly apparitions flickers from among the second elevated row of insubstantial forms appearing like a Pegasi choir. He's a brute of a man, even in his spectral blue form, grim faced with markings under his eye and down his neck with a Zebraic plume of hair. After an awkward pause, like some spectral communion, he bobs his head, “Yes, Warmaster. It is as you say, the censure fleet mustering in the Beta-Garmon cluster is currently underway.”
Horus nods, apparently satisfied as Luna hears the scratch of quills on parchment in the background. She dares not blink, she dares not even break concentration. Something about it felt too pressing. Too important.
“What do my sons say regarding the serpents within the legions?”
“Kill them!” The outburst is swift and vicious, spat like venom from the pulled back lips of the largest of the five at the base of the throne. While Kurn was broad and barbaric from afar, Luna wanted to rear her head back at the bitter vitriol as a massive warrior took a step forward.
“Is that so, Ezekyle?”
He looks like Horus, but wrothful, green-eyed, blood red top knot swaying as he placed an armoured foot on the bottom step of the throne. “They deserve death. The same fate as all who oppose us. They deserve nothing short of what Temba got, what all of them on Davin got! We shouldn't be sniffing around the void like a dog. If we're not going to go for the throat and head to Colchis and drag Lorgar out by his neck, we keep going and close in and get Erebus!”
“What of Magnus, Abaddon?” another of the five asks in a stoic drone, stately and strong jawed, but with a short mop of a blond mane. “If the Word Bearers put something else into action, surely there's a reason for it.”
The hulking Abaddon curls his lip in contempt, “What about him? It's a feint, Loken. We're obviously closing the noose. We keep going.”
“Commander,” Another speaks up, so close to Horus and Abaddon both. The only difference was his blue eyes, and the constant edge of a frown flitting at the edges of his face.
“Speak, Aximand.” Horus waves with a small gesture that tells him to rise and look him in the eye.
Aximand evidently does, looking up towards his primarch. “Any involvement between the sixth and fifteenth legions is going to end in disaster, whether or not it's related to us. If you contact Russ, perhaps you can dissuade him, or at least buy us time to reposition a force of observers to the system.”
“A personal touch to my brother might be personally appreciated, but it will do little. And I will not bow to leashed dogs to plead my case. This is a foregone conclusion: the writ of censure has been drafted, and Captain-General Valdor is not the type to let paperwork go to waste.” A mirthless smile forms on Horus's lips, Luna can practically feel the sensation of her own muzzle forming into the same fanged grin she tried to let go in the ruins of the Everfree Castle not so long ago.
The golden-haired Loken looks over to his grim counterpart, “If we are closing in on Erebus, we won't need much, a battlecruiser squadron and no more than two companies should be more than enough to destroy him or bring him to justice. We could turn the fleet around and be at Prospero before any ship from Beta-Garmon can interfere. That way we can at least ensure the edict is properly followed.”
“Mal?” Horus looks to his left, glancing at the withered wolf-cloaked figure.
Maloghurst's twisted and scarred face comes into full view as he nods, lower face hidden by a metal grill where a lattice of scar tissue forms around his cheeks and ruined nose. “Assuming the warp doesn't present any unexpected complications, Loken is correct: we would reach Prospero via the Ryza warp corridor in five to six weeks. It would take at least seven from Beta-Garmon.”
“And if Erebus has some fortress world or other allies? Then what?” Abaddon spits, “We waste our chance at taking his head and lose more legionnaires? We're already stretched thin!” The hulking warrior points to the spectral blue form of apparently absent figures.
“Not half as much as the White Scars, Imperial Fists, or Iron Warriors.” Loken replies, getting a growl of disapproval.
A forth of the quintet, a black haired figure with a long face merely looks up with a bit of a squint. “I think I agree with Abaddon, Garvi.” He has a faint lilt, and even a shadow of a smirk. Holding up a hand to forestall a reply, the smirk broke into a firm grin, “I know, I know, it surprised me too. But there's no way we can just let Erebus slip the net like this, and we still have more forces than we need as a whole. Why not let the Judicature , the Tyrannis , and a few battalions keep up the hunt for Erebus, then take the rest of our forces under the Spirit and skip back to Prospero?”
There's no real objection, at least not for a few moments. Horus holds up a hand, growling, “I feel the hand of the ship upon me, Tarik. It wouldn't be right to have someone else hunt Erebus in my absence. No one fights my battles for me. No one.”
“Commander,” The blue-eyed son chimes, “surely we've entered the realm of Ultramar. This is the thirteenth legion's problem as well. Surely we could gather any necessary support from them while still prosecuting the hunt for Erebus. Any major incident between the sixth and fifteenth could be disastrous for us all, and if the Word Bearers did it, there must be a reason they set them on a collision course.”
“It's because Russ is a single minded mutt, and his commanders are even worse.” Abaddon snorts in derision, missing a faint glimmer of disapproval from Horus himself. “They did it because they knew it'll end in a fight-”
“That we should be trying to prevent if at all possible.” Loken replies, looking over at the unspeaking fifth member of the group, and then the grim-faced Aximand. “It's our responsibility, we are the Warmaster's legion.”
“They'll listen to us.” Aximand nods, glancing between Abaddon and Loken.
“Tybalt,” Horus starts, “you've been quiet.”
Luna's direction is focused on the fifth. He's tall, gaunt, eyes downcast. But as he glances up, she finds herself looking into eyes she's seen before. They're green, bright, and alive. The pain is still there, but so is a strength of will to meet Horus's own. He looks like Horus, though from what she sees, a faint hairline is growing in. She recognizes him from last time, and she stares in shock at the now embossed silver lines on his armour.
They were fashioned into her cutie mark and rendered to exacting perfection.
His voice is sharp, higher than the others, save Aximand. “Erebus must be held accountable, and he must be held accountable by you. But the Thousand Sons can not be abandoned, or Erebus will have won a victory that we may not fully understand: we must deny him both, Commander.”
It felt... practiced? Something wasn't quite right, perhaps because it came without pause.
Horus nods, and rises to his feet. Looking over the crowd, his gravely bass rocks the assembled throng of countless hundreds, “I, by my supreme authority as Warmaster, do hereby declare Erebus of Colchis, as well as the Serrated Sun chapter of the seventheenth legion, and all forces found to be in collusion with them to be traitors to the Imperium. Furthermore, all members and representatives of the seventeenth legiones astartes are now subject to censure. They will be brought into custody at any and all opportunity, and those that resist are to be treated as enemy combatants. This is my will. Near and far, to the exclusion of all other orders, my word is inviolate.”
Some of the assembly whisper among themselves, but most merely listen as Horus peers over the massing congregation.
“There will come a day of reckoning, and it will be soon. Very soon. All forces of the legion will muster at the world of Ryza in Segmentum Ultramar. Iacton Qruze.” Horus waits for just a moment as an aged looking giant steps forward from among the front ranks of his kind. Spotting the wizened warrior, Horus continues. “For your valor and duty, you shall take command of the Magna Tyrannis , the flagship of the Ryza mission. It is yours.” he nods before looking at the unhappy looking face of Abaddon.
“My First Captain, you are to be my rod of authority. The forces gathered to Ryza shall be yours to command, with the express purpose of the protection of the Prosperine system, subordinate to no-one; neither Primarch nor Princeps of Terra. If the censure fleet makes a move in anger, in defiance of you, then you shall respond with an iron fist. This is my will. Maloghurst, you shall act as the emissary to deliver this warning to any and all that oppose us.”
The scribbling sounds and surprised whispers from the crowd do little to stop the primarch from descending his throne as he snatches an immense mace, his symbol of authority. Presenting it like a sceptre, he points it at the crowd, “I shall see to the persecution of our enemy myself. And to this end, I shall take with me the second, fifth, eleventh, eighteenth, nineteenth, forty-second, and sixty-fifth companies with me aboard the Vengeful Spirit . My pursuit fleet shall also take the Judicature , The Lupercal Pursuvient , the Cthonic Dawn , and the Black Wolf squadron. Princeps Turnet,” he addresses a lean, black clad figure with a skull for a face. Seeing eyes in empty sockets look up at him, the Lupercal continues, “You shall transfer your battle group to the Magna Tyrannis , but I wish you to detach a demi-maniple of your titans to accompany my command. We shall continue on in our pursuit of Erebus. This is my decree.”
“You're not coming with us?” Abaddon asks, genuinely surprised as a crooked raised brow marred his usually sharp features.
“No, but I will meet you at Prospero as soon as we have reached our destination and completed our task.”
“Where's that?” The First Captain snaps right back.
Horus merely grins, “That is for me to know.”
'Manatax?' Luna asks quietly, and in a flash, she hears the reply.
You have two weeks.
The thunder of applause came out from the tiny vox bead as a cataclysmic rasp of white noise. Echoes of the Warmaster's voice would be ringing through the upper corridors of the vessel, broadcast to the cantinas of the remembrancers and iterators near the end of the concourse. But in the deep and dreadful rotted core of the aged void-craft, among the twisting steel labyrinths and tangles of immense cables and conduit lines, he listened.
Through closed eyes, he saw more than they ever would.
The wafting vapours of decay mingles with machine oil and lubricant. The sickly concoction festers on contact with the air, then drips from corroded pipe fittings in the narrow blind chamber. A single figure, dressed in grey fatigues squats in the middle of the floor, listening in as a ring of candles around him wheezes and flickers every time the mag-lift rushes by beneath them, sending gusts of wind through the acid-pocked floor and through the crude plasteel grating. He smiles a bit, showing teeth.
His eyes open slowly as he listens to the rhythmic machine clap on the other side of the vox-link. The man whispers to himself as he lays out a data-slate on top of a small innocuous grey ceramite case. It was a simple thing, not so different from a toolbox, and not hard to hide when nobody was looking for it. The man reaches out and lets his hand brush the uncomfortably cold plasteel box as the stasis field crackles and pops at his touch.
“What are you playing at, Lupercal?”
A wet voice burbles from behind him, choked by phlegm and masked in a machine-filtered rasp. "Orders?"
"No." The man sighs and lovingly pats the mostly unremarkable case, "Not yet."
“We have concluded that the case presented to us does not display sufficient demonstrable merit compared to the relative cost of projected enhancements needed to ensure continued development. Thus, this council finds it is in the best interest of The Equestrian Education Association and the Citizens Safety Council to temporarily suspend funding to the San Palamino exo-accoustics project, pending further review. I'm sorry, I truly am.” Chairpony Fancy Pants' voice echoes in the packed courtroom amid the shuffle of papers.
Shock.
Numbness.
The words felt like they physically slapped Sine Wave across the muzzle, then bucked her in the stomach. A tightening in the Unicorn's chest melds with an acrid tang of bile creeping up her throat as the reality of the situation came into focus. She was out of the job, and her efforts scattered to the wind. A year of research and information collection, more than two months of breakthroughs, a remarkable discovery, and it had come to nothing. They'd discovered information never seen before, and a language on the edge of being deciphered from Celestia knows where, but it was deemed to be 'insufficient'? Not only was it unfair, it was irrational! Sine swallows to try and clear the sour taste from her mouth before trying to say something convincing.. Nothing comes out. Her voice cracks and warbles, threatening to break her usually steely composure.
Where had it all gone wrong?
“Let it be on the record,” Professor Baryon's irritated huff interrupts the uncomfortable lull that had fallen on the chamber, “The decision is not unanimous and thus subject to re-evaluation at a future date.” The mare's support for the project didn't seem to be able to overturn Neighsay's sudden disapproval.
“Of course, objection noted.” The council's head stallion replies with a sigh.
A quiet whimper and sniffle makes the Unicorn glance towards the earth mare at her side. Clarion Call's breath hitches as her face prickles up in shades of red, reflecting the shame and disappointment that Sine felt as well. The pink mare's muzzle twitches as she fights to keep the keening simper locked into her chest. But the wet shine in her eyes betrays her. After only a few seconds, the first tears cut furrows down her cheeks.
“Y-you can't! Why?” Clare's voice cracks before she tries to regain some composure with a noisy sniff.
“I think we could probably do with a break.” interrupts another of the council members, an obvious attempt to forestall any overly emotional reply and maybe allow them a chance to find their way out. Lady Grey. Probably. Sine felt herself far less interested in that as she scoots over to place a foreleg around Clare's withers. Her friend shivers uncontrollably, barely held together as they sit on the shrouded bench just outside the spotlight.
A day ago they were presenting the most incredible news that their community had ever seen, and now it held no merit?
Sine's lower lip trembles just long enough for her to scrunch up her muzzle and let the acidic bite of disappointment well up in a queasy tide. “T-thank you for your time.” she breathlessly gasps, well aware that nopony would hear her. But it did offer a moment of respite being that no one could see her glossy eyes in the dark.
The swirling miasma of time whirls around her as the scratch of pens and quiet muttering of pagecolts melts together in an easily ignored background drone. The mare didn't stand up, she couldn't. And by the occasional hiccuped gasp and shudder that radiated into her side from her friend, neither could Clare.
So the sensation of a hoof on her shoulder makes her flinch from the unexpected touch, drawing away and pressing further into Clare's pudgy barrel.
“Sorry, sorry, didn't mean to spook you.” a quiet voice whispers, and in the gloom, Sine spots the fiery mane and bright coat of a vaguely familiar Unicorn. She was from the day before, the one the council had grilled pretty harshly as they got in. The Unicorn's bright teal eyes glimmer in the darkness, reflecting a weak but genuine smile lightly traced across her thin muzzle. The only surprise was the flowery moss green thermos thrust into her leaden forehooves. “Here, it might help.”
“Wha izzit?” Sine slurs together with a sniff.
“Just a pick me up a friend made for me, but it looks like you two could use it more. I'm sure she won't mind.” The bright Unicorn mare had been there and never broken down. It only made Sine feel even more sullen, realizing she couldn't- 'the buck is this?'
The self deprecating thought dies as Sine tastes the sea salt and caramel latte that sends tingles her tastebuds in short order. Her eyes nearly cross as she focuses on the curls of steam rising from the container, bringing with it the heady fragrance of sweet and salty goodness.
“I thought you two might need it more than us before your meeting.” The bright and confident unicorn quickly levitates another simple cream coloured ceramic thermos from a saddle pack. She unscrewed the cap and passes it to a still sniffling Clarion Call, the Unicorn steps in front of them, as if to hide them all from the view of the council.
After a few draughts and an unsteady hiccup, Sine Wave looks up and clears her throat. “Meeting?”
“Yep,” Sunset Shimmer replies quietly, ears pivoting before quickly casting a few looks to the reporters gallery, then a more concerned look at Clare as the earth pony gulps down most of her drink. “The princess wants a word with you about your work. Today.”
“'Pick up the guests', she said. 'They'll be obvious and everything will go great', she said. Lovely. Just bucking lovely.” Moondancer grumbles to herself as she wiggles her back uncomfortably against the wooden slats of the Canterlot station bench. She sighs and twists, taking up most of the space to lay down with her forehooves crossed over her saddle bag and hind legs tucked up to her barrel. The grey cloak wadded up and twisted uncomfortably over her like a blanket only barely warded off some of the early morning chill.
All around her the steam of engines rises from dormant machines' smoke stacks, and the sound of jangling cargo trolleys and baggage carts beats an obnoxious tattoo in tune with the general din of the station. From the jumbled groan of complaining foals and irritated working mares as they stumble into hastily formed lines, to the ambient noises of the soon departing locomotives, Moondancer could swear that it was all done to assault her with even more noise.
It's the last thing on her mind as the Unicorn stifles a yawn and quickly wraps the cloth under her frame while trying to scrunch her neck further into the warmth of her well worn turtleneck. Anything to stave off the humid chill of the unseasonably cold morning. With a loud rattle-clack, a pair of dual rail yard doors slowly yawns open, allowing a new arrival into the far side of the station. Of course, it also let in a new blast of cold air that sweeps through the station, using it as a wind tunnel to filter the rank fume-laden chilliness right into her face.
The rains had stopped in the early morning hours, but the sombre grey clouds left Canterlot's usual spectacular features swathed in a dismal haze. Sitting on the slatted wood and iron framed bench, Moondancer tried to keep her attention fixed on the flipping charts of inbound train schedules rather than the unhappy crowds and dingy skies. The sprawling latticework of glass and metal above the train yard let in what light it could, but it still wasn't enough to dispel the sensation of apathy and uneasiness that pervaded Canterlot.
Squinting through her glasses, Moondancer spots the Ponyville Express as it eases into the station's wide entrance, a few rail yard ponies quickly arranging baggage trolleys along the adjacent platforms. While obnoxiously loud at her spot at the mouth of the train station's ticket hub, it wasn't as bustling as it would be on a typical early autumn day.
With a sigh, Moondancer quickly rubs the life back into her tingling extremities and sluggishly rises to all fours.
'Happy smile, c'mon filly. Plaster that stupid grin on your face. Don't let them know you didn't want to get up at the crack of doom to pick them up.' It's too early for these horse apples.
She fully expected that Luna would be wanting to talk to Twilight, or maybe Starlight as part of their little royal club. Picking up her saddle bag, she makes her way around the stone platforms, wandering off towards the distant train while stamping some of the feeling back into her hooves.
Of course the stupid thing would show up on the other side of the station. She should never have drawn straws against Starlight to see which of them would go and fetch the science ponies and who would go to the station. That had been the decision of a morning zompony that had also maybe, kinda... possibly snubbed Sunset's good morning, and called her Starlight by accident. She'd have to apologize for that later.
'Well, if I'm doing this, gonna at least pretend to be happy.'
She knew one way to at least fake it. Quickly drawing her thermos from her pack, the Unicorn unceremoniously unscrews the cap of her paisley thermos. Paisley? She didn't remember packing that one, but she didn't really remember much of the morning. There was the hazy memory of stumbling outside into the cold and quickly scuttled back inside to pick up a cloak, and the early morning snub. That was it.
Stopping at an iron lamp post at the end of one of the stone embarkation platforms, the mare felt the steam on her muzzle and let it fog up her glasses with its life-giving heat. A small grin broke out on her face just from that as she sniffs some of the moisture away. It didn't smell quite as poignant, but that's because she needed a double kick this morning. Taking a sip, her face scrunches up.
It was a very nice tea, warm and fragrant....
'WHERE'S MY BUCKING SALT LACED CAFFENATEDSUGARDRINKWHATDIDYOUDOYOUBUCKINGWHORSE?!?!'
... but it wasn't the same.
As the train pulls to a stop, the mare stares in dismay at the paisley container and stares at it blankly for a moment. A memory flashes back, a slightly awkward Sunset scurrying off with her pack slung on her back with a cream thermos jangling from a strap. Biting back a warble of dawning comprehension, it does little to quell the sudden shaking in her hooves or the twitch in her left eye.
The squeal of brakes and hiss of a passenger car's doors opening barely registers with the mare as she stares at the now thoroughly unwelcome thermos hovering in her pale arcane grasp. Not that she could see it through her foggy glasses.
“SUNSET?! ” She howls to the rafters in indignation.
“Um, it's Starlight.” Comes the voice from just in front of her. And through the opaque haze, she indeed spots the blurry violet blob.
“Well, it seems as though the fetch-and-carry-acorn has learned something at least.” The drink is peeled from her telekinetic grasp by an interfering pale haze. “This isn't half bad.”
'No, no... nonononono NO!' That voice. Moondancer tilts her head down just enough for her glasses to slide to the end of her muzzle.
There was only one blob that blue, that smug, and that insufferable.
'Stars, spheres, and celestial dam above, why do you hate me?'
Even though months had passed, the scars of the Davin incident were still fresh. The scratches of bolter fire and twist of a tortured void-frame were exposed here and there. Some sections had been acid-washed clean, exposing the bare cladding to the world, others had divots gouged out of their surface. But Tybalt Marr knew it as scar-tissue, something that the Spirit would never fully recover from.
Much like a living creature, it had felt the touch of pain and treachery. It was an ever present reminder that there was no sanctuary.
His heavy footfalls weren't alone in the corridor, dozens of astartes were traversing the well worn halls between the mag-lifts and access routes to the armory. The Warmaster's redeployment meant that a great many of the Spirit's considerable compliment of warriors would soon be in the care of the Magna Tyrannis . Spotting the transverse black crest and motley assortment of colourful cloaks garbing a glory squad, Marr was quite aware he wasn't even the most senior officer in the hallway.
After bobbing his head in acknowledgement to the black cloaked Reaver marshal, Marr veers sharply to his right and, with a wave of a hand, opens up a maintenance corridor. The cramped space would quickly bisect the barracks deck and lead him to the tenth's quarters. Compared to the wide and scuffed main thoroughfares, the maintenance runs were ugly, dimly lit, and even more noisy with the ever present hiss of steam pipes and pneumatic fluid exchanges. A pale green glow pulses through the section from the brass-clad lumin lamps sunk into the perforated rib stanchions. The scent of machine oil mixed with... something else. Something almost organic in its stink. Marr's nostrils flare, a cautionary warning ringing in his head as he spots the sharp pock marks of bolter fire that had burst the finger thick flange.
Blood?
It was possible. More than just astartes had died in the assault. But it wasn't just blood wafting in the air. For a second, a cold and uncomfortable instant, there was something more chemical in nature wafting on the artificial wind. Something that didn't match what his senses told him were machine oil. The astartes realized full well that it was deathly silent. No one but himself was in the corridor, yet eyes bored into him from somewhere.
'I see you.'
The astartes spins on his feet, cloak fanning wide as his hand snaps to the pistol locked to his hip to confront the voyeur.
Nothing.
The empty hallway pulses with dull green light while the low groan of industrial pumps and pistons fill the corridor with the heartbeat of the machine. Whatever had been watching him was gone.
Slowly, Marr straightens up and turns. But the hairs on the back of his neck still prickle as if something had brushed up against him. Redoubling his pace to something resembling a lope, the captain hurries through the grated metal section. Rusted and clogged servos whine as the door squeals open under some protest. In his haste, the warrior nearly runs into a grey-suited fleet crewmen.
The swarthy man blinks, nearly reeling back before shooting his gaze to the floor in an instant. “Apologies captain, I didn't think anyone was in there.”
“It's fine. No harm done.” Marr nods with an affirmative grunt, twisting to avoid bumping into the man as he locked eyes on the sigil of the 10th company across the hall. It was only a sparse few seconds, a breath between this hallway and the barracks to Loken's company.
But a prickling question gnaws at him, enough so that he turns around to look at the maintenance door even as his hand reaches to open the barracks room. By then, the fleet menial was gone, the portal snaps shut with a rusty whine.
'When was the last time a maintenance worker could look an astartes in the eye by accident?'
With a shake of his head and a low grunt, he looks to the well lit legionnaire barracks hallway. It was a short ramp heading down into the commons room that quickly splits into runs for each squad. There was a degree of oddity, déjà vu. His company's quarters were identical, except for the numerical plate of 18 and the red flag with the familiar glaring eye and screaming aquilla emblem.
But for all the oddity, the voices rising from the adjacent hall were comforting.
“You're bein' a worrywart. Trust me, there ain't nothing to it, Garvi!” Brash and upbeat, even Marr's perpetually pinched grimace turns into a weak grin. He brushes past one of assault legionnaires heading up the ramp to the hall, nodding with a tap to his armored chest in salute to Marr.
The captain returns it with a short nod before entering the main hall. It was certainly awash in activity, with dozens of legionnaires packing what little personal items they had into dull grey cases, while others check their equipment over piece by piece. In the dead center of the room, on the simple green marble roundel depicting the company's numerals in beaten bronze, was the pair of captains.
Tarik stands with his hands on hip and grin as wide as ever while Loken fastens his cloak clasp on the gorget rim, a morose glower of disapproval etched on his stony visage.
“I don't like it. It feels like this is some way to split us up. This, the Prospero issue, maybe the Word Bearers planned all of this out.”
It was neither of them, but the hovering face behind them that spots Marr first. Nero Vipus's eyes quickly focus on him, and he offers a nod and a swiftly flashed grin.
“Easy now, the Commander probably just wants someone with a head on his shoulders to watch over Abaddon. And who better than you?” Tarik offers with a shrug.
Marr clears his throat, catching both their attention. “First choice would have been you, Tarik.”
“Tibs!” Tarik sways on the spot, keeping the same hand-on-hip posture as he cracks a grin.
The new nickname reflexively makes Marr's cheek twitch, “I wish you wouldn't call me that.”
“What?” he keeps his wolfish grin, “You think I'll always have time to say 'honourable commander of the nineteenth company, sixteenth legion, Captain Tybalt Marr. Duck'?” He flicks an imaginary speck of dust from his shoulder, “Single syllable, can't go wrong Tibs.”
“'Marr' is one syllable too, Tarik.” Loken grunts and finishes affixing the cloak before reaching over to pluck a new mag-harness from Vipus's grip.
Torgaddon merely waves a hand dismissively with a non-committal huff.
Marr sighs, pulling into the circle of officers that widens appropriately for him. “But really, you've known the First Captain longer, Torgaddon. I'm surprised he didn't elect for you to watch over Abaddon. He might listen to you better.”
“It's not anyone's job to tell Abaddon what to do, just advise. And besides, Horus knows I can get under Aximand's skin. He'll be sticking with me and the Commander, so it'll be fine." Torgaddon's impish smirk never fades.
Marr glances around at the legionnaires, many of which were nearly prepared to depart. This would likely be the last time they spoke until the Spirit arrived at the Ryza mustering point.
“Speaking of the Commander,” Loken interrupts, drawing Marr's attention back to the conversation. “You're his emissary now. It was Maloghurst's job. Just be careful, he can be vindictive.”
“I'm only his emissary abroad, Maloghurst retains his title as equerry to the Warmaster.” Marr sighs, but the thought had most definitely arisen privately. 'The Twisted' was no amateur, nor was he gracious. He'd never even spoken to Maloghurst for more than a minute or two, and the exchange was a more or less perfunctory one.
“There will be a lot of people who want to get into your good graces just to get at the Commander,” Loken cautions and sets a hand on Marr's shoulder, catching his full attention. “I trust you. I just feel ... uncomfortable with the way the Mourneval was split up. Horus is only taking a few companies with him, and for everything he said, he's still not back to normal. It all feels like we're being spread too thin, too many of us paired with lodge members, so we can't keep an eye on everything. So be on your guard and watch for anything strange. Remember Sejanus.”
Hastur Sejanus's murder while acting as Horus's emissary was well known, reviled, and cautionary. Marr begins to now as Tarik's hand finds a hold on his armor, and reels the slighter captain in. Torgaddon leans some of his weight against him, crossing a leg and grinning at Loken. “Hey, I'll keep an eye out for 'em, Garvi. Besides, I'll be at Horus's side most of the time, and when I'm not, Tibs here will. I mean, what can go wrong?”
Chapter 11: Preludes to A New Era
Despite the uniqueness of its construction, its magnificent silhouette, and a peerless legacy, many of the chambers that made up the Vengeful Spirit's inner bulkhead were so similar to one another, that even a master cartographer could be forgiven for losing their way. But down one of the nameless maintenance corridors, amid the hiss of escaping steam and wafting factorum fumes, a solitary figure quickly navigates the labyrinthine maze with a small grey case in hand.
Despite the noxious stink of vaporized low-grade ceramite settling in its powdery film over the grey grating of the interior like frost, the heat remains oppressive. A thin sheen of sweat keeps the man cool as he rounds another bend, careful to avoid smudging his uniform or brushing a shoulder against the encroaching overhang of corroded copper ducts. The grey fleet worker uniform sticks to his frame, silhouetting a physique uncommon among the expeditionary fleet's menials.
The small microvox in his ear buzzes for the fourth time in as many minutes, prompting him to tuck the grey case beneath his arm and speed up to a predatory lope. His heavy footfalls go unnoticed as he twists just enough to avoid the lumbering coffle of slack jawed servitors bearing replacement pipe fittings. Leaving the rhythmic clanking of the dumb machine-men well behind him, the man weaves into a sheltered alcove and taps the runes to open up a secluded hatch.
A door promptly hisses open, releasing a belch of pungent fumes into the odorous hallway. The man cringes as he slips inside, sealing the door behind him.
He activates another runic pad and lets the case nestled under his arm drop to his awaiting grasp . A bank of lights flicker to life, bathing the obtuse angles of twisting pipes and casting shadows in the twisting darkness of the aged junction point.
After closing the door behind him, the man swiftly taps the microvox and draws in a breath of rank air. “Yes?”
'Alkhar, you Colchisian bastard, where have you been?!'
The impatient voice of Serghar Targost seethes over the other end, his voice tinny and faint thanks to the interference signals from his vox's ciphers.
“Busy.” The Vigilator replies, comfortably stalking further into the room. The man reaches a plain industrial grated staircase leading down to the sub-deck nitrogen scrubber vats and air recirculation pumps. It's easy to ignore in favor of a railing lined catwalk suspended four meters over the sub-decks ugly stained floor. Still, the man has to duck to avoid hitting the enormous overhead conduit pipes that ooze veils of dripping chemical lubricant.
'What do you mean 'Busy'?! You've had months to set this up, months. And for that time I listened to your hollow promises and advice. I got you what you wanted, and you've done nothing!'
“Far from it.” Alkhar sighs as a drip of scalding machine oil drizzles onto the back of his neck, neutralized only by the thick greasy oils he sweated out from his mucranoid gland to counteract the appalling heat. “Besides, I was nearly run over by Emissary Marr on my way here.”
'Marr?' Targost snarls audibly into the link, turning it to static. After a moment to collect himself, Targost whispers, 'He didn't suspect anything, did he?'
“No. And yes, I'm sure.”
'You better be, or we're all dead.'
“Captain Belekar isn't dead,” The Colchisian dryly replies, quickly ascending a secondary staircase up into an office hallway carved out of the wall space like a rat hole. He didn't need the flickering halogen lumins to illuminate the three doorways carved into the unadorned grey corridor of striated thermoplasts.
'No, he's just strung up and stuck through with enough feedback spikes to keep him screaming for weeks.'
“Ye of little faith.” Alkhar rounds the bend and mentally prepares himself, taking a fleeting second before opening the round pressure seal door. It hisses, the twisting helix lock spiraling hypnotically until the bisected metal petals yawn inward.
'Of course I have no faith in you. I'm supposed to be assembling with Sedirae in ten minutes. And, if you've been paying any attention at all, you'd know we're being shipped off to the Magna Tyrannis with Abaddon all in in some vague hope to dissuade Russ from butchering all of the Cyclops's malignant whelps. And Loken's being sent to breathe down my throat! He knows , Alkhar. And I cannot help you. I don't have a single legionnaire that I can keep on the Spirit . Sacred Unity, they're even wringing out the medical bay!'
The sickly odor of putrefying flesh washes over Alkhar as he steps inside the sealed room. “Calm yourself, captain-”
'CALM mys-'
“I have sufficient protection as is.” Even before the lights properly flicker into being, the pair of ruby eyes cleaving through the darkness follows his every move.
'If you do it now we can still count on a core of support. We can confront Horus, search the residencies, the remembrancers quarters, everywhere: then catch the xeno threatening the Warmaster.'
The lights snap on and illuminate two swollen figures standing side by side at the back of a filth stained, but otherwise unremarkable room. Both warriors stand still in their weeping green battle plate, caked in mottled grey green corrosion and distended obscenely like blisters and boils. Their fecund stink overpowers Alkhar's genhanced senses, abruptly halting his approach again.
“No. After all, brother Targost, while I'm certain that our enemy is here, they are silent and waiting for their opportunity. This deployment is obviously their design. So I say 'let them wait'.” With an errant nod, the Vigilator make a quick blasphemous sign. The pair of guardians lumber aside with a whine of protesting servos. “We will lull them into a sense of complacency when they think we are weak and scattered. It will embolden them, and they will reveal themselves for all to see.”
Setting his grey case aside, Alkhar forms a toothy grin as he opens one of the white crates. Blue light crackles of electricity dance across the inner workings of the container and weave rippling tines through the air. “And then...” Breathing out to keep himself from inhaling the noxious fumes, the Word Bearer Vigilator reaches down to caress the glassy skin of a large semi-translucent orb. “We will strike with the might of a legion.”
The sickly black and green fluid inside twists and spirals slowly wherever his hand sensually drift across the surface, as if sensing the presence of life outside the fragile globe.
The rattling train rocks back and forth as the world outside passes by the windows at a steady clip. Twiggy desert trees and patches of yellowed scrub grass dot the dusty countryside, blurred by a faint heat haze lingering on the desert hardpan. Once ponies got past Los Pegasus, it was a rather lonely ride that few individuals except a few homesteaders, bothered to take.
And squinting into the mesa strewn distance where even the saguaro's didn't grow, Moondancer lets the empty corner of Equestria stare back at her. Somewhere out there, beyond the scruffy sour-faced reflection staring back at her, somewhere out beyond the line of craggy red plateaus, was an observatory waiting at the very end of the line.
For all the promises and importance, the future was looking bleak. And coming from a gloomy, rain soaked, Canterlot to the sunny San Palamino expanse, that was saying something.
More than a day and a night of travel, of awkward noises and bitten-back conversations over sparse meals, had been only the beginning of Moondancer's discomfort. She'd had to take her sweater off, Trixie had given her slightly pudgy barrel a fair bit of ribbing, and her mane had turned frizzy and brittle in the deplorable dryness. Licking her slightly chapped lips, the Unicorn mare sighs against the burning hot window, smudged by her mane and intruded upon by the afternoon sunlight filtering through to bake her like an apple pie.
A voice kicks her consciousness back into place. Swiveling her ears back towards the sound, she can hear the obnoxious nasal rattle, “Honestly, Starlight. Even Trixie wouldn't travel this far for a show, and she will roam far and wide to bring joy to her fans.”
Moondancer snorts, quickly flipping the page of a book. She'd brought a half dozen and read them all in the past, but the information went in one ear and out the other like she was nothing but an intellectual sieve.
“It is pretty out of the way, isn't it? You think this railroad was built just for the observatory?” Starlight mutters with a light sigh as she wiggles in her seat to get more comfortable while the pale blue and silver mare sprawls leisurely across a whole seat to herself, opposite her... 'whatever they are' .
With an empty coach car, there wasn't much need to whisper among themselves. Nevertheless, with Sunset Shimmer just a hooflength across from her, she'd been keeping quiet for the past half hour since they left the Los Pegasus station. The Unicorn mare's lounging spot resting with her back against the burning hot glass pane didn't look the least bit comfortable. But the mare drank in the sunlight like some desert flower.
'That's a creepy comparison to make, right? Yeah, definitely a bit creepy.' Moondancer scrunches up her muzzle and sighs. Even if it's accurate, it's definitely a weird to think.
“Starlight, did we HAVE to come along? Surely a few moving ponies could pack up all the science things and we could have stayed in Ponyville. Or at least grabbed a room and enjoyed Los Pegasus for a while. Trixie would have liked room service with a nice drink while sunbathing on a patio deck.”
Moondancer snorts and mutters in a mocking Canterlot lilt, “Could I interest madam in a hot tin roof and a glass of water to the face?”
Aside from a flick of Trixie's ear and the faintest irregularity in Sunset's breath that gave her away, her comment goes unremarked upon. But despite her closed eyes, a lip bite gives the fiery Unicorn mare away.
“I'm sure we could do that when we get some time. So long as you don't mind company.” Starlight replies, pulling a book from an overhead compartment, continuing their conversation across the isle, one seat back.
“If it's you, Trixie is sure she can survive.”
Moondancer mouths an unflattering reply and sneers before squirming to put some more distance between her and her blisteringly hot seat. Looking at Sunset, she catches a single aqua eye just barely peeked open. But the mare does at least flash her a friendly grin.
Finally at her limit, the Unicorn snaps the book closed in her magic and hisses quietly, “I was sure we got rid of that anti-intellectual wind bag. I mean, I knew she was a whorse but she's like the clop, she shows up once and you just can't get rid of her.”
Sunset's brow lofts up with an ever twisting smirk, asking an unasked question.
“I read.” Moondancer scrunches her muzzle up.
“I didn't say anything.” Sunset smirks and closes her eye again with a breathy sigh.
'Sun-worshiping filly.'
Night was always more comfortable. Shaking her head, the Unicorn opens her little book again. She may have been distracted, but a distraction would be a welcome break from listening to the prattling braggart and her apologizing companion. Moondancer quickly scans the cover. 1001 Saddle Arabian Nights . Looking up sharply from the page, she shuts it again and sets it down beside her. She didn't recall even packing that, let alone picking it from her hoofbag.
'Alright, yeah. Too distracted.'
From further back in the car, she hears the quiet albeit one-sided conversation from the other two ponies. Ignoring the scientists, the mare finally lets her head rest back on the uncomfortably hot seat. “Sunset, it's still something like four hours out, right?”
“Yeah,” her faux sleeping friend replies, eyes snapping open to regard her with a smile. “Why? Bored?”
“Kinda. Any suggestions?”
The Unicorn mare's ears pin back, “Sorry,” she forces a bit of a sheepish grin. “I guess Luna's dispatch had me a little eager and I kinda forgot to bring cards or anything like that. Don't tell Pinkie, I don't need her hiding stashes of emergency playing cards around Equestria. You know she'd do it.”
Moondancer gives a short but resigned sigh before looking back out the window at the desert expanse beyond the scalding hot glass. “Hey,” Sunset pips back up as she stretches, “You could ask Trixie, she usually has them even if they are stage props.”
It was loud enough and obvious enough to grab the attention of the couple in the middle of the train car. Deep violet and brilliant blue eyes lock on Moondancer rather quickly. From across the aisle, the lounging showmare's lips slowly form into a smirk, openly daring the mare to ask or plead.
The studious mare's expression hardens like granite as she locks her gaze with the antagonistic blue brat. Ignoring the happy grin from the pale mauve mare hanging over the seatback to talk, Moondancer asks sharply, “Do these trains have any alcohol on board?”
Starlight shakes her head, “Sorry, it's a straight commuter train. It's, umm, kinda why we stopped for lunch back outside Los Pegasus.”
Breathing out a sigh of resignation, the bookish mare resettles the pair of glasses perched on her snout and glances at the windows. “I wonder if these go all the way down.”
“If they did, it wouldn't matter much.” Trixie smiles, throwing a stage whisper to Starlight, “Her fat flank wouldn't fit through either way.”
“Trixie! That isn't nice!” Starlight hisses right back.
“You're right.” Trixie huffs an overly dramatic sigh, as transparent as the hot air from her muzzle. “That was mean of Trixie to draw attention to such things. Do forgive the contrite and penitent Trixie.” The fabricated Canterlot grin that cakes her muzzle accompanies Starlight's weak but hopeful smile.
Neither does much to alleviate Moondancer's twitching eye. She fixes the still smiling Unicorn a death glare. 'Blow it out your ears, not like your brains will get in the way.'
Standing up, the moody Unicorn trots leaves her seat. The groan of her shifting weight attracts Sunset's attention, her ears tilting for a moment before she glances up with a hint of concern. But the moody Unicorn trots right past her pale antagonist and straight down the aisle.
Oh sure, she wanted to wipe the filly's insipid grin off her face with a hoof, but it was better to disengage. She'd done it all her life and it had worked out fine so far. Moondancer draws in a steady breath, flicking her tail as if to work out that irritation,psyching herself up to approach the occupants of the rearmost booth.
A dusty rose coloured earth pony mare chatters animatedly with a less-than-occupied Unicorn. The latter's ears perk towards her, and her neck snaps around as she recognizes Moondancer's approach. A sparkle of hope reflects in her eyes, as if just as desperate for some manner of relief from her companion.
'Oh mare, you have no idea.'
“And suddenly she asks, just asks right out of the blue 'hath thou any knowledge to make thy dreams a reality?' I mean, who'da guessed that the Princess of Equestria would ask ME , to help HER ?! Can you believe it?!”
The dark Unicorn re-affixes her gaze on the jubilant earth pony practically vibrating out of her seat. “I know, Clare. I was there too, in case you forgot.”
Clarion Call merely makes a squeeing sound, not too far off from a tea kettle starting to boil. It was obnoxious, but faced with the prospect of dealing with her or Trixie, it was an obvious choice. Especially since she wasn't sure if the rear door to the cabin was locked and if she could get away with just hopping on the covered railway car behind them.
Approaching the pair, Moondancer doesn't even stop before slipping into their booth and wordlessly taking a seat next to the Unicorn with a huff of breath.
Casting a questioning glance at the mare opposite her, and seeing nothing but a few facial twitches of mindless giddiness, Sine Wave lofts a brow. “Umm... can we help you?”
Moondancer's neutral face doesn't so much as crack. “We have four hours left until we reach your station, right?”
“About that.” Sine cautiously replies.
“Alright, well so I don't want to smack a filly, I'm gonna offer you a deal: I'll pay you twenty-five bits each to talk about anything with enough intellectual merit to not make my brain cells scream and shrivel up.”
Both science ponies sit in silence for a few moments, not that the dead-faced mare does anything but stare straight ahead. Clarion Call and Sine Wave exchange a few uncommunicative glances back and forth, but even the awkward lull was more bearable than Trixie's smug grin.
“Sooooo-” Clarion Call cautiously starts, “who would win, batmare or supermare?”
Sine Wave's mouth opens only wide enough for her to groan and slap a hoof to her forehead, “THAT'S your first question?!”
“Pffft, Supermare, obviously.” Moondancer replies with a dismissive hoof wave.
“Even with her old utility saddle?” Clare squints and sniffs, as if smelling something rank.
“Yes.” Moondancer's heart rate spikes sharply. “Well, I mean, excluding White Light Batmare of course.”
“Oh. My. Celestia.” Sine groans loudly and leans back, hooves covering her face, “I am in Tartarus.”
“We understand that you are hesitant about this. If there was any other way...”
“Just...tell me that it wasn't planned. Please. This wasn't done on purpose, was it?”
The pair of Alicorns stand amid the empty halls with no sound but their voices to interrupt the stillness of the affair. It was a somber lull, born from tears and necessity. And in the darkened caverns beneath the husk of a shattered dream, the pair confide about the world to come.
“Nay, of course not. We wouldst have liked to see your vision brought into the world, not smothered in its cradle. For what it's worth, We have complete trust in thee.” Luna's pause is only long enough for her to draw another disappointed breath.
The cavernous space rises up before them, empty and decrepit as if long neglected by the world. Their glowing horns light the interior of the space, illuminating every carved facet of what would have been an immaculate laboratory for arcane studies. The smell of powdered granite in the air is faint, but mixes well with the lingering waft of the plaster daub on the ceilings, ready for a coat of cheerful paint that wasn't to be.
“Twilight, thy heart is strong, and We place our trust in thee.” Luna turns to address the smaller lavender princess. Twilight's eyes stare straight ahead, fixed on the pair of new carved anchor stones. Each of the three tonne lodestone monoliths lay set and secured by silver pins driven precisely into the middle of the floor.
They were merely the first alteration.
“I thought this was my calling. I-I wanted this to work. I wanted to give something back to Equestria. It was a gift that it gave to me. I thought this is how I could help m-make a difference.” Twilight starts, but trails off into the silence with a sharp intake of breath. She shows no other outward displays of emotion aside from a subtle prickle on the fur of her cheeks. But the Princess of the Night didn't have to be Cadence to spot the strained features and slight shiver of a mare trying to keep her emotions in check. It was an all too common sight.
In the basements of the still-born dream, its mother breathes an unsteady breath. One laden with sadness, disappointment, and regret for a future that would never be.
Luna gently reaches a hoof out to rest on Twilight's withers, “You are still a visionary, Twilight Sparkle. And a friend. Perhaps we may still use the foundation you built for its intended purpose: a bridge to new friendships and understanding.”
The Princess of the Night knew better than most about the pangs of dying dreams. She knew of the despair of good intentions being scattered to the winds as ash at a funeral.
It hurt all the same, no matter what was said. And so it goes unsaid.
Luna slips closer, turning the touch of support into a comforting hug. Twilight's body tenses for a moment, before her nearside spasms and she leans her weight into the elder Alicorn. Her breathing grows ragged in just a few heartbeats before the spasms race to her chest. Twisting her neck over Twilight's, Luna draws the little Alicorn into a full embrace. A pair of dark wings unfurl to cover her friend as she tucks the mare against her chest. The softly sobbing mare nuzzles further against the luxurious coat, muffling the sounds of her sobs as they grow into a throaty wail as the dam bursts.
The embrace tightens, and Luna feels every single tremor ripple through the mare's tense frame. Luna tucks her friend further into her embrace, shushing her with a few soothing sounds. She shouldn't be hurt by this, yet Twilight clutches desperately to her like a foal to her dam.
The unfamiliar feeling should have been immensely awkward, yet the clutch of the smaller pony against her was equally painful for the diarch. She was no mother. Luna had been an emotional support for her sister, but it was never like this. Reaching back into her memory, the Princess of the Night recalls a moment from her youth. A time of pain, of loss, a filly needing consoling.
The melody comes naturally to her.
A last bittersweet song echoes in the cavernous halls of the School of Friendship's abandoned campus.
It starts as a stillness lingering in the stagnant air, bringing a sudden and unexpected calm to the swaying forest of sensor spines stretching towards the scalded heavens. The sudden quiet is detected only as a few belated chimes on a monochromatic green screen. A short blurt of binaric machine cant heralds the reports conclusion, and in moments, the simple readout is sent through the nascent noosphere to other outposts across the Grande Basin range.
All that time, Bakti Huynh's attention remains fixed on the blinking red and green lights pulsing just outside the glasteel window. The young adept scratches a long nail across the back of his neck where the swollen skin around the new augmetics socket. With another languid sigh, he reclines on the uncomfortable latticed seat and winces. With a wiggle, he shifts from side to side to get comfortable for the remainder of his ten hour watch over Refinery 9's landing port.
There wasn't much else to look at past the scratched pane, and nothing inside that could hold his attention for long. What little there was to be seen from Refinery 9's southern control tower wasn't anything that Bakti hadn't seen before.
The assortment of blinking lights delineated the octagonal raised landing platforms just outside the window, drawing any attention away from the bulkheads of the refinery's modest perimeter walls. Manatax's wind blasted wasteland lay beyond in a never ending expanse of twisting crimson dunes stretching off towards an ashen horizon.
Well, aside from the craggy inselburg of Geminos Rubrim that lay eight kilometres due south. Nestled among the dunes, Bakti couldn't be entirely sure why the early explorers called the duo of dull grey basalt buttes jutting out of the desert 'the Red Twins' . It was probably some crude joke, knowing the caliber of the locals outside the Martian priesthood's enclave.
Bakti barely takes notice of a pneumatic hiss and rhythmic clomp from the doorway behind him. He merely waves his electoo over the command console, accessing the newest updates through the noosphere.
The result wasn't much, a small exploratory group would be headed out at twenty-one thirty Terran Standard time, which translated to tomorrow morning at five forty seven, Mantax sidereal. Thirteen minutes before the end of his watch, and too far away to be excited about.
Only then did he notice the weather warning that had silently arrived in his notification panel: a cyclogenic event. Category two, dangerous winds and electromagnetic cascades expected for a period of eighty five standard hours. Vulturax and exploratory teams ware being recalled.
“Every time, every single Omnissiah divined time!" Bakti launches into his thoughts mid stream with a thin and reedy drawl. “Metal and mettle preserve us.” the young mechanicum adept sighs resignedly. He used the excuse of being in the presence of another to use his flesh-voice. How long would it be until that too was replaced? It was perhaps a little concerning to the youth, and more so than the steady buzz and thumping now just a few meters to his right, descending into the observation chamber of the control tower.
The neophyte datasmith quickly taps a few runic keys on the arm of his seat, ignoring the shuffling form of Lambda-421 as it descends the steps into Bakti's inglorious sanctum. A series of echoing crackles and pops rasps from the grainy loudspeaker before giving way to a hiss and a distant tinny voice.
“Go for Tacheen.”
“Well, you were right Hatacheen. I don't know how, but you were right. We've got an electrostorm on the way. Decent sized one, too.” Bakti sighs with a faint wheeze, rubbing his remaining unaugmented eye as he awaits the inevitable.
“Toldja so.” The voice on the other end chortles, “these ol' bones don't lie. Hey, Bakti, got a bit of a gecko in your throat or something?”
“Procedure.”
“Aaaah, so they put a tube down your throat. Alright. So no drink after work?” Tacheen replies from wherever in the refinery he was today. The faint crackling noise of rhythmic distortion was a bit of a clue, he was probably put in the filtration rooms next to the regulator pumps.
“I keep my word, Tacheen. But I'm on station until tomorrow.”
“Alright, maybe next time.” the tinny voice said, “Don't go ogling Lambda, now.”
Bakti's gaze twists away from the deadened stare out the window, and to the mechanical mass shuffling along in front of him. It only just connects that the servitor was, once upon a time, female. The remnants of cloth pants and a neat stripe down the side depicts the refinery's practical logo and designation, but beyond only the most basic shape, Lambda was nearly unrecognizable as a human, let alone a woman. The waxy and dead, red-eyed augmetic stare coupled with the trailing tangles of mechadendrites jutting from her scalp and trailing down her spine to her tail bone just sounded like something out of Martian myth.
The servitor slowly turns its head, its binaric voice crackling in its synthetic drone from behind the bronze grill that replaced most of her face from lower soft pallet down.
Her.
Sighing heavily, Bakti drags his nails across his shaven head and right back to the implant that had been sunk into his skull. “Omnissiah damn you, Tacheen.”
The vox caster winds down again as the indicator lumins fade to a steady green. 'Hatacheen' focuses on the decipher key, waiting for the series of five LED's to illuminate in sequence before even drawing breath on the aged turquoise nuncio vox. All around him the steady whir of pneumatic oxygen exchangers continues their rhythmic hissing cadence. High atop Tower 19's scaffolded communications spire, more than half a kilometre above the ground, the perch held a commanding view of the countryside. From the north western blackstone mountain range, to the southern wastes and the Red Twins, nothing escaped notice. Not even the distant dust clouds heralding the approach of another column of nomadic scavengers.
Manatax's star beats down hot and uncomfortable, sizzling through the thin atmosphere and turning the ashen skies a noxious yellow. But the station's meteorological instruments had to be right: there were more disturbances now. He had sensed it, smelled it in the stagnant air. A storm was brewing.
Vicious gales and sandstorms were common along the barren frontier, but they always posed a problem due to the dense ferromagnetic sands kicked up in abundance. They would periodically shut down most of the EM spectrum and blot out both communications and sensor sweeps. Unless a command ship were right above them in geo-stationary orbit, no one would hear them if something went wrong.
And something was definitely 'wrong'.
Hatacheen pulls his grey cloak tighter around the black undermesh bodyglove, giving the immensely tall figure a sinister cloaked appearance as he waits for the equipment ciphers to complete their decryption.
Four green.
Not enough.
There was always the chance that they could be intercepted if it wasn't completely within the margins. Exposure for expediency wasn't acceptable. The vox-set blathers senselessly, cycling through a few cipher shrouds as it tries to connect. The man's enormous hand hovers over a datathief's display slate. The pertinent information stolen from the system's sensor net had already been written in his mind, but he had to be prepared if things changed. With a quiet blip, the final indicator light turns green, and 'Hatacheen' presses the receiver toggle.
After an unenthusiastic blip, a message and data burst appears. Aside from parsing through logistics and tender movements for a half dozen minor expeditionary fleets in the surrounding system, only a single message was of note.
'Prince fleet split. Component α returning to Segmentum Solar along Ryza warp corridor P-502. Component β continues into Segmentum Ultima by tertiary conduit zone L-400. Disposition unknown. Cause unknown. Destination unknown. Advise heightened monitoring to all assets along L-4 routes.'
'Hatacheen' depresses the send toggle.
The laboratory was in something of a state, not that many would have been able to tell by the before and after pictures. Where once empty wooden crates stood in abandoned corners of the room as storage space for the less-than-tidy occupants, now the same wooden crates had been dragged over and emptied to make room for the more sensitive equipment.
'The Machine' as it had been so lazily named, in Moondancer's opinion, held both amazement and faint disappointment. All of its potential had been wrapped up into a somewhat lopsided ball. A ball then fastened with duct tape and stuck in the corner. Its spinning baubles and tangles of garishly hued conduit wires could have been mistaken for the mane of some hideous mecha-monster if one was to wander across it in the dead of night. An image not the least helped by the twin black reels at roughly 'head' height and a single illuminated acoustics adjustment matrix just beneath that.
Moondancer sighs, resting on her squished space atop a water-stained and crumb infested blue and white striped couch at the far end of the room. Scratchy dried straw sticks from the gaps in a threadbare back cushion to prick her haunch, and her precious space is taken up by about the only other truly friendly face in the room-
Sluuuuuuuuuuurp.
Sunset smiles obliviously from a hooflength away, a grape juice box in her magical grasp. She seemed only too happy to noisily suck the dregs from the bottom despite the series of pointed glares directed at her.
'I'mma smack a filly if she doesn't cut that out.'
Moondancer hardens her momentary glare, then glances back up to the relentless pacing coming from the far side of the room. Starlight treads the top of the split level floor, the glorified dias up the staircase upon which the monolithic mass of a machine lay at rest. The Unicorn's sharp glare at the machine is interspersed with glances their way.
'Well I'm not budging.' Moondancer snorts to herself, though it comes out as a petulant wrinkled muzzle, and a habitual nudge pushing her glasses further up her snout. Meanwhile, Sunset stares straight at the machine with a curious grin and an obnoxious sucking rasp through the straw.
The noisy sound draws an irritated sigh from the pony next to her, the third and last on the cramped couch.
“Is that really necessary?” Trixie hisses under her breath, narrowing her eyes after having taken them off her slightly torn cloak hem. The result of an accident of some pony treading on it while occupied with a box of audio tape reels.
In lieu of a reply, Sunset stifles a grin and more quietly sucks the little remaining liquid hiding in the corners. It wasn't hard to catch the flagrant smirk and little glance to a now frowning Trixie. The smile by the end said 'done'.
Trixie's irritated glare shifts its focus to Moondancer. Apparently, at some point in the last few moments, a satisfied smirk had split her muzzle unbidden.
Refocusing her attention on the pacing Starlight and the back of the chunky and far too chatty pink Earth mare, Moondancer stares upwards. With the quiet murmurs and occasional stops to peer over a slightly swaying Clarion Call, it bring a single thought to the Unicorn's lips.
“If I didn't know better, I'd swear that the Princess of Friendship's student up there was originally Celestia's emergency back up Twilight. Y'know, in case she ever misplaced her at a gala or lost her behind the couch cushions.”
Sunset snorts, quickly clamping a hoof to her nose with a hacking sound of pain melding into her laugh.
“That is entirely unfair!” Trixie scoffs, now fully turned from her cloak as she rises to all fours. “My Starlight is nothing like Twilight Sparkle.” the latter's name nearly spat out.
“Uh-huh.” Moondancer says, then squints through her glasses. “Sure...”
Trixie huffs loudly and leaps off the couch before trotting haughtily across the room and up the stairs to the upper platform. Sunset clears her throat with a cough and blinks away the last of the tears. “Was that just to get more couch space?” She wiggles over, taking some of the vacated seat.
“Happy coincidence.” Moondancer replies, also shifting her weight to escape the discomfort of the prickly straw.
“Starlight, just what are we waiting for?” Trixie calls from the foot of the steps and quickly hops up them with a few very obvious stamps of irritation to punctuate her point.
“Clarion Call said that the messages go out every day at this time.” Starlight glances over at the Earth mare, who flashes a somewhat unsure grin in reply.
“It's not always exactly the same time, but pretty close. It's just a little later than usual today.” She goes on, biting her lip and hunching over to bury her muzzle in the illuminated control panel, silhouetting her head in an nefarious green halo. “But It can't be too late, after all, we haven't eaten yet.”
“Trixie distinctly saw you scoffing down a family-sized bag of Chancellors Choice ketchup chips half an hour ago! If it weren't so awful, Trixie would have demanded her sha- oh for Celestia's sake, it's still on your muzzle!”
Clare freezes at the accusation, and less than covertly scrubs a forehoof across her face. “I was not 'scoffing'. eliminating the organic detritus so that we could, um, assess what other more important objects deserved our focus of attention during the packing procedure.”
Salvation comes like a summoned Siren, a crash of pots and pans and the clatter of a lid rolling around in its dramatic attempt to escape the downstairs kitchen. “Cosine Wave!” Sine's voice booms from the attached household down the rickety hall attaching the annex to living quarters.
“I'm tho tho thorry! I'll clean it up!”
With a warble and hiss, the machine spits out a rasping blurt of wheezing air as it shudders and shakes. As the myriad of gadgets whir to life like some indoor wind chime, the wheezing machine's reels click and begin to turn. Clarion's eyes widen as a smile creases her muzzle.
“Sine, Cosine, get your flanks up here!” The Earth mare takes a shaky breath and looks straight at Starlight with an undaunted grin of anticipation.
The lilac mare grins and quickly concentrates just long enough for a flash of sapphire magic to surround the control panel and the archaic ear-like speakers. “There,” Starlight takes a breath and waits in anticipation. “That should work.”
Moondancer perks her ears up. They'd been waiting for this moment, taken their break, and got everything else prepared in preparation for magically disassembling and move The Machine to the awaiting train. It had been Clarion Call's pleading that she couldn't wait another day that got them to wait as long as they had.
But the more she listens, the more the sense of eagerness drains away. At first the popping clicks and strange little trills of the machine descend into a rhythmic thrum broken by a static pop. A strange light fills the room, crackling as if interacting with the spell cast on the device.
A sudden unequine screech breaks the silence, sending shivers straight up Moondancer's spine before the grainy sound of a background rhythm greets her ears, it was dead air from somewhere else. And then the monstrous machine seems to speak. Its tone bleeds through as if speaking under water at first, Clarion Call adjusts a few dials, and the deep voice clears with a static pop.
'Eye One, this is Dusk Prime. Received. Proceeding under high-readiness, assumption of Prince. Course aligned with current locale, full surveillance of inter-system traffic underway. Correction submission: ETAIO fourteen, oh-two, seventeen. Step up site surveillance confirmed. Ultima response to Prince not received. Request additional legion assets. Request additional extraction assets. Request full summery analysis of transit contact designate Sierra-two-one along L-four route. Request confirmation of orders under Kingpin scenario. Request confirmation of orders under Seismic scenario. HD, out.'
The voice was deep, rasping, but intelligible. As the machine's unequine tones descended into silence and the spools of tape wind down, an uncomfortable silence cloaks the ponies that heard it.
“I TOLD you it was bucking real!” Clare's whooping laugh breaks the lull, a single exhilarated response that sounds out as Moondancer's fur continues to prickle at the alien voice from the unknown.
The mare was right.
It was real.
Candlelight spills from under the crack of the study, its sole occupant poring over a mountain of documents as day transitioned to night. Yet he remained planted in his high backed chair with the curtains drawn. While the arcane wards of silence at his doors and windows shine with a faint blue haze, the noiseless flicker of a fire spell emanates from the stone hearth. Even the tick of the ancient grandfather clock in the corner had been stopped to allow for uninterrupted thought. Aside from the scratching of a quill on parchment, or the occasional flap of an opening file folder, the room was drowned in an oppressive silence.
It was exactly what the lone Unicorn wanted.
Despite the elaborate filigree on bookshelves and end tables adorning every part of the lavishly furnished abode, it was still just a work space. The more distractions, the more time it would take to review the mountain of schematics, allocations, requisitions, and correspondence which would make this project come to fruition.
The pale Unicorn stallion shifts aside another plain manila file with a sigh and perhaps a little too much force. A few black and white photos spill out as the folder tips off the cramped desk and falls to the floor. Neighsay grunts in irritation and after massaging his muzzle with both forehooves, he finally stands. The stallion's back cracks as he moves, both hind legs shot through with pins and needles.
Circling around the wide oaken desk, Neighsay picks up the folder's contents spread over the red Abyssinian carpet. With a sigh, he shuffles it back into the mass of paperwork piled high on the edge of his workspace before allowing himself a respite. A glance up at the shadow shrouded clock in the corner revealed it was just past two in the morning.
Plodding across the carpet and kneading his frogs into the plush surface, the stallion looks up at an easel holding a large schematic board. It lasts for less than a second before he affixing his attention to something far more compelling. Crossing the carpeted room to his turn of the era credenza, he wordlessly opens the elaborately embossed and latticed glasswork case. Past the pony marquetry and gilded floral veneer, lies a row of simple brown bottles in a variety of shapes and sizes.
He selects one, and swiftly retrieves a simple glass tumbler from another shelf before pouring a measure of fragrant golden liquor. The Unicorn inhales the floral scent of heather, honey, and alcohol vapors before downing the glass in a single gulp. With a loud sigh of contentment, Neighsay refills the glass and turns to regard the easel mounted illustration depicting the Ponyville School of Friendship.
He snorts reflexively, barely holding back a sneer as the glass raises to his lips. “Foolish mare.” he mutters and breathes out again before allowing himself a more controlled sip.
Savouring the fiery warmth of the herbal liqueur as it slid down his throat, the stallion takes in the details again. Red ink depicts where halls and structural alterations were made to accommodate the San Palamino Acoustics team. More over, another chamber far deeper down was illuminated in red, depicting sunken arcane columns and lodestone piers with dozens of notations scribbled in the corners. Alterations he'd made himself. The Lumin Mirror's inner chambers were arcane shielded in one of Princess Twilight's magic experimentation labs, reinforced by his own devising, and paid for by the Crown. But the whole complex, for it would soon become nothing less, would be under the Equestrian Education Association.
Even if they didn't know it yet.
“Isn't it strange,” the stallion says to the empty room, collecting his thoughts and savoring the taste of honeyed liquor on his tongue. “Princess Sparkle's school would have been a serious threat to Equestria. Now, the same building could be the foundation of an institution to safeguard pony kind for a hundred generations.”
It was too important to let something like this go undiscovered. If Equestrians didn't, who would snatch up the opportunity? Celestia may have grown to loath the old ways; but were not the Caprine, the Swine, the Bovines all protected under Equestria? They were not ponies, but none held a miserable lot in life. Meanwhile, the rise and fall of Gryphons, the sickly emergence of Changelings, the anarchistic rabble rousing of Minotaurs, and ever present threat of Yaks all showed the need for a stabilizing force in Equestria. And force had been exactly what Celestia had shown increasingly uncomfortable in utilizing.
Celestia had withdrawn her protection in favor of appearing a benevolent ruler. The ancient paintings of shimmering hosts as a bulwark against anarchy had been stripped from galleries, and now reside in the vaults of private collections. The 'Bad Old Days' of toppling tyrants and dethroning warmongering spirits had passed into legend. There was no more iron shod hoof to maintain order in the lands of the Sun.
Instead, it had been decided that the fate of Equestria would be rest in the hooves of six young, flawed, fallible, and frustratingly obtuse fillies.
“No thought for their safety, let alone Equestria.” he sighs, letting the borderline treasonous thoughts dissolve with a sigh. “How long before the walls of Canterlot come toppling down? Just being able to say 'I told you so' to a Princess is a hollow victory when the world around you burns.”
Why did ponies need to bleed and die in the name of 'friendship' with those who couldn't understand it? Why not let the shield absorb the impact? “I will leave them something to keep ponykind safe. I will leave them something better than 'hope'.” He didn't trust the archaic princess of the Night knew how the world presently worked. For that, he was thankful. Luna was a pony who understood the need for force, and the need for displays.
Placing the tumbler on the shelf next to the bottle of spirits, the Unicorn stallion crosses back to the files and flips the top one open again. He barely glances over the photographs of a cocky turquoise Pegasus mare with a golden windswept male, grinning broadly in her recruit uniform. “If we're to make a proper display, we'll need a properly impressive delegation.”
Dragging out a quill, ink, and envelope, he returns to his writing.
Author's Note
Well, the first of 2 bridge chapters, concerning just some passing of time.
Aaaaand yeah, I kinda figure Equestrian hard liquor is close to Disaronno or Drambuie, more or less for the record.
The locker door noisily squeaks as it's roughly yanked open. A chorus of laughter rings obnoxiously loud in the cramped confines of the Trottingham weather team's changing room. A chorus that Lightning Dust wasn't party too. She stares into the depths of her locker, past the crumpled heap of an unwashed garment, a small tube of chapstick, and some opened letters that all started the same way:
We thank you for your interest in the position, however-
The rest was pointless excuses, the Pegasus knew the reason why the answer was always the same. Her eyes dart to a photograph, one that shows a proud mare in a far more impressive uniform than the dreary tan vest that hung around her shoulders. She was the same mare she had been, but since her 'incident' it had been like this everywhere. She'd thought of making her own team, a frequent topic of semi-coherent conversation over a pint at the Down and Out . She was gonna do it, she had to do it.
So why did she stick around week in and week out, as the junior member of what could graciously be called a third rate weather team? The thoughts ricochet around her head as she finally snaps back to reality, only to find that she'd been blankly staring into a pair of amber eyes reflected in a smudged mirror.
“Woah mare, I thought he was gonna chew me out for sure.”
“What, ya mean li-”
“Eeeeewwwww, get your mind outta the gutter, filly!”
“How 'bout no, and we call it even?”
She certainly wasn't staying around for the company.
Lightning Dust takes a shaky breath in a vane attempt to tame the ever growing snarl of frustration bubbling up from deep in her chest. It wasn't helped by the oblivious trill of her happy-go-lucky coworkers as they loitered in the change room after their shift and gossiped like school fillies. Squirming out of her sweat stained clothes, Lightning Dust flicks a wing, catching the vest's strap and hastily tossing it into her locker with a noisy whip-crack. Unsurprisingly, the two other mares jerk in surprise.
“Woah,” Wind Whistler says, folding her ruffled powder blue pinions back to her barrel. “Feathers and flowers, what pricked you in the rump, Dusty?”
“Lemme guess, nothin'?” a voice calls from the far side of the room.
Lightning Dust closes her eyes for a moment, the Pegasus spins and slaps the squeaky door closed with a sharp buffet of her right wing. “Hey, Medley,” she eyes the other turquoise mare who titters with a hoof to her muzzle. “Shut it.”
Instead of silencing her, the fellow Pegasus bursts out laughing. Lightning Dust can only glare as Medley sweeps her mossy bangs over her eye to imitate a coquettish smile. “Oh c'mon miss moody mare. Lighten up, there ain't nopony else around!” she waggles a hoof dismissively at Lightning Dust and then sweeps it across the room. “See, sis?”
Lightning's eye twitches. It wasn't the first time Medley had called her that, not by a long stretch. “Don't you dare 'sis' me!” She takes a step forward, glaring daggers at the mare who's muzzle twists into a grin.
“Alright, alright Dusty, that's enough.” Wind Whistler interjects, lazily unbuttoning her vest while taking a few precautionary steps to put herself between the two. The eldest of the trio only had to shift a pace or two in the cramped locker room of the weather patrol 'headquarters', a simple office space in the back of Trottingham's redbrick town hall. “You know Medley's just teasing you. It's what friends do. Besides, one more complaint from a passing cleaner and you'll get yourself written up. C'mon Dusty, just let it go.”
The Pegasus at the other end of the room leans back on the wooden bench as she shoots Lightning a grin, “What, didn't have fun?”
“No.” Lightning's left eye continues to twitch as Wind Whistler steps in front of her. The taller turquoise Pegasus mare cranes her neck up a little more to maintain her glare.
“What? Whadid I say?” For once, Medley actually had the grace to look confused. But the expression shifts with a little smirk on her face, “You still mad about the whole 'twins' thing? I tell ya, colts love twins. And we do kinda match.”
Lightning Dust's snort melds with a long suffering sigh as she bites her lower lip to stifle the rising tide of irritation. “I'm nothing like you. Don't you want anything more in life than to sit on your drunken flank trying to pick up colts?”
“No?” Medley says simply before smirking and tapping a hoof to her chin, “Wait wait! Does two count?” She sticks her tongue out as Wind Whistler rolls her eyes.
The senior weathermare mumbles, “I can't believe you.”
"Hey, I'm just havin' fun, Whistler! Like I said, ain't nopony here. Look, Dusty, if it really bothers you then I'm sorry a'kay?” Hopping up and ignoring Whistler's warning glare, the glib pony saunters over with the little bob that comes so naturally to her. “First round is on me, whadd'ya say?”
Quickly searching her face for any sign of an ulterior motive beyond the obvious, Lightning Dust says nothing. There's no reply, but she does stick her head in her locker as a series of quakes ripple across her frame.
'That bucking ma-' Lightning Dust stops, her nose having pressed against an unfamiliar letter neatly tucked in front of the others.
“Duuuuusty? C'mon, don't be a stick in the-”
A crinkle of paper echoes from the enclosed space, and the mare swiftly drags out an envelope by her teeth. Quickly tearing it open with a slice of her pinion, the mare skims the unfamiliar stationary.
Dear Lightning Dust, we request the honor of your presence in Canterlot at your earliest convenience to discuss an opportunity of the greatest importance.
The more she reads, the more unbelievable it sounds. She didn't even notice the other two mares crowding around her once the golden signet wax had broken.
“Someone slip you a little love note or somethin'?” Medley asks, traipsing over to catch a glimpse of the curious letter.
When no reply comes forthwith, even Wind Whistler steps closer until all three are huddled around the single metal locker. “Dusty, 's that a ticket?”
Stock still, eyes twitching for a moment, the tallest mare in the room looks at the impossible letter in her grasp as a boarding pass flutters to the floor. After a few moments of silence, her pinions start to shake as a glittering golden flame burns in her eyes.
Shoving the letter back into the envelope with a single sweep, Lightning Dust scoops up the ticket and slams the locker closed with her hip. The motion nearly flattens Medley, and she staggers a pace as Lightning Dust gallops from the room, “Rain check! Gonna' be gone for a bit!” She's gone in less than a second, skidding around the corner and out into the hall.
Medley staggers at the croup-check and stares at where the mare had disappeared moments before. “Fine I'll invite Rain Check if you want!” she calls after the mare, then glances over to Wind Whistler. “I just didn't think she was into her is all.” With no reply but a stony glare in return, the turquoise mare turns to look at a slightly incredulous Wind Whistler, “Yeash, y'think ya know a pony.”
“Medley...” Wind Whistler reaches up to rub at her own muzzle.
“Huh, Whadid I say?”
Amid the sterile vaults of one of the Vengeful Spirit's medical bays, only the hissing sound of centrifuges and the hum of a lithoprojector breaks the silence. A pair of figures stand on either side of the distinct green-wire projections of dual and triple helix strands silhouetted against an indistinct background. Neither of the duo speak as the centrifuge winds down.
Fabius squints at the sequencing again, looking over the immeasurable labyrinthine patterns of the illuminated genome. His pale sapphire gaze roves over the information presented faster than the human eye could blink.
A long sigh from Fabius's companion breaks the spell, “It's the same as last time: it's some sort of toxic hypoxia engineered to turn his own cells against him. The larraman cells get contaminated the moment they interact with the affected areas, and the leukocytes don't recognize the necrotic tissue. It's a damned Primarch killer.” Chief apothecary Logaan rubs the bridge of his nose before sliding his hand back across his bald pate.
“Yet the Warmaster lives.”
“Yeah,” Logaan grunts with an irritated huff, “question is, how?”
“I'm not entirely sure.” The Emperors Children geneticist narrows his eyes further to dark slits, “Yet.”
Gesturing towards a series of graphic charts, Logaan waves at the myriad of readings cluttering the already messy tangle of projected screens. “You're supposed to be some sort of savant-”
“I am.” Fabius replies dismissively.
It gets a grunt in return as the slightly larger Horusian apothecary takes a step closer, “Then 'savant' up a theory and give me something to work with, Fabius.”
The geneticist's dark eyes break with the screens and travel towards the disgruntled apothecary now standing with a hand on his hip, crinkled surgical gown still sticking to his bulky frame. He gestures to a chart hovering at the periphery of the display, and drags it to the forefront before presenting it to Logaan. The Horusian apothecary looks it over, taking in what was clearly a spectral analysis chart with a sharp spike at the upper end. But the distant glint in his eyes said he was still trying to figure out precisely what he was looking at.
'Typical. Nothing more than an amateur seamstress who works with skin. There's no art and no genius to this. It's absurd to have him in charge of a Primarch's health.'
Fabius sighs and wearily points to the obvious anomaly, "This is background radiation. If my suspicions are correct, It's both related and unrelated to the toxin.”
“Care to elaborate?”
Fabius bites his lip and makes a swift gesture, pulling another set of blank EM graph readings in front of the genome, “It means there's something we don't have the equipment to directly measure.” Returning to the anomalous chart, the Emperor's Children geneticist points at several spikes in the upper register of the spectrum, “something peaked the background radiation readings and is causing them to rise sharply, extending well beyond our means to measure. It may be directly related to the toxin that is slowly killing our lord Warmaster, or it may also be related to whatever it is that is keeping the toxin in check.”
Gathering several more readouts and then reaching for a dataslate on a nearby table, Fabius thrusts it out towards Logaan, “Tell me, did you notice anything about Horus's physical examination?”
Taking the slate, the apothecary glances down before curiously scanning the information. “No, what did I miss?”
“Retinal scan.” The Emperors Children apothecary pauses as Logaan parses through the data. It's just long enough for the Horusian to visibly balk at a certain piece of obvious information.
“H-his eyes-”
“Eye color can change based on radiation, toxicity, medication, production of melanin through the mucranoid, and genetic instability.” Fabius didn't need to look to see that the Horusian was more than a little taken aback, he could hear him stagger and collapse heavily into a chair they'd shoved against the wall. Fabius could read the apothecary's self-disappointment like it was a book. He should be ashamed. “But outside of the affected area in his shoulder, there is no bio-chemical change when we compare this to records prior to the Davin incident.”
Logaan looks up, the dataslate folding forward onto his lap. Sure enough, while all the indicators had come up identical to his previous checkups, small veins of cyan had built up in Horus's irises, surrounding his pupils like they were gates. “Let me guess, you found the radiation spikes there too?” Fabius offers a single nod. But a shadow of confusion swiftly crosses Logaan's heavyset features, “I still don't recognize any of these EM signatures.”
It had taken the legion's new chief apothecary far too long to come to that realization. How Horus put up with this, he had no idea.
But in truth, the revelation had come as a surprise to Fabius as well. It was a spur of the moment thought gleaned from reflecting on the reports of the Davin incident, perusing the autopsy file of the ruined corpse left by the angry Primarch in this very lab, and recollecting Erebus's account of a strange quadruped 'warp xeno' that supposedly accompanied Horus. A creature he had yet to see. The mechanism of the poison that had nearly killed the Warmaster was still a mystery, and he'd been frustrated after every conceivable test had turned up negative. In the absence of anything better, Fabius had done something he loathed. He guessed.
Fabius once more looks back to the graphics displayed by the projector, “This is not electromagnetic in origin. I co-opted a power reading device for measuring the strength of a voidship's Gellar field.”
“You mean to tell me that it's a warp signature?”
“Yes.”
Logaan shakes his head and slides the dataslate across the simple desk an arms length away. “How did you come up with that?”
“Isn't it obvious?” Fabius glances down, the corner of his lip curling up in a sneer before it twists into a hollow smile. The expression never makes it to his cold dispassionate eyes, “I'm a genius.”
“O' powers that be, hear my prayer. If I am acceptable in your eyes, if my faith be tested and my heart found pure, then help me to fulfill your plans.”
Kal Belekar sucks in a belaboured breath while he still can. The wet and sticky air passes between cracked lips as he sways suspended by the chains that bind him to the chamber's walls. The skin of his wrists was worn away by the constant chaffing of the manacles, and his teeth were cracked and broken from his endless torment. Where once he'd been a proud captain of the Word Bearers, sworn to the commands of the Urizon, now he was a wretch hanging from chains, forgotten in a cell and left to waste away.
Yet he had been granted a small respite. His captors had left him to his muttering once again, though there was precious little energy left in his broken frame. Strips of his skin had been flensed off, the betchers gland in his mouth was gouged out, and his body was wasting away in a metabolic starvation. But something far worse was still in store, something he had heard of and never seen until that decrepit old astartes had staggered in front of him.
'The Twisted' lived up to his namesake. Hooded and cloaked, the broken astartes had swaggered up and condemned him in a single breath before hammering in the first biting nerve spike into his black carapace socket.
Pain.
It existed before on the battlefield, stressful and yet swiftly numbed. He had not remembered what it was like as a child, before the ascension. He had seen the Imperial army troopers curl up and cry when struck, or huddle in a corner, or give up and die. It had been a confusing thing once upon a time, but now he could understand. His deadened limbs wouldn't respond, and between the spastic waves of intermittent agony blazing a fire through his nerves, he merely wished to be set free. One way or another.
“If I am worthy, absolve me of this torment and return my strength.” he rasps to the walls, feeling the heat from a solar lamp beating down upon him. His tongue was thick and dry, it was eerily similar to the arid slopes of mount Tembruk back on Colchis.
How strange that his mind wound up back at home after more than a century of absence.
“If not, then let me die.”
As the words pass into the abyssal darkness around him, a sudden presence seems to lurk in the shadows. It hovers at the edge of Kal Belekar's vision like a mote of dust caught in his eye. A jangle of metal sounds like keys for a moment, before he spots the flash of gold from a bangle hanging from a too-thin wrist.
“Oh, I don't think they'll want that now, do you?” A feminine voice whispers with a sultry lilt. “Even in your position, you might be of some use to more creative minds.”
The figure that steps from the darkness shifts like a shadow for a second before it flinches back. The pale lavender hued skin and glimmer of claws was unmistakable, as was the slender shapely form that it had adopted for itself.
“Then set me free, and I'll do the Dark Prince's bidding.”
She balks at the offer, then laughs. Placing a hand to her bust, still cloaked in shadows, the female's fanged grin flashes in the gathered gloom. “Me? Nonono, I'm not here for you. I've no use for an astartes, they aren't my 'type'. I'm just, shall we say, nosy. Besides, I'm sure that your time will come soon enough, little captain. As for me-” her figure waver and flickers, “I have other places to be.”
The sound of the Great Ocean lapping at the shores had always been something of a comfort to the Crimson King. In ways beyond human comprehension, it was much like the Primordial sea from whence life had emerged. And within it were creatures, great and small. He was one of the former. He wasn't some mindless predator slicing through the firmament as a shoal of sharks sensing blood, but a being of light.
And still, it didn't matter.
Witless. Gormless. Ignorant.
It plays out in front of his mind's eye again, the bursts of light and clatter of explosions as the Selenar and Martian chattel scramble to avoid the lethal bolts of lightning. What should have been a moment of illumination, of warning about his father's favored son, had birthed a far more horrific revelation.
Magnus had known it before his father spoke. He, Magnus, had been the instrument that put an end to his father's dream. Just like that, without word and without delivering the message that had been so critical, he had fled the sanctum and left it to the wiles of the Great Ocean's denizens.
Now, just as then, he beheld the throne of a god. It sits silhouetted on the horizon, a monument to the stillbirth that was ascendant mankind. It would have been a golden seat for the enlightened New Man to rule from without the threat of the Great Ocean, or its destructive waves that slowly erode the shores of reality. It's still there, a dark silhouette shining across the sparkling aetheric seas, a last ominous landmark to what could have been.
It was his fault mankind ascendant was dead in its cradle. The dream was dead, he was its murderer.
As the royal gallery of Terra lay in ruins, so too would the spires of Tizca. Prospero would burn, and he was its unwitting architect. Surely the Wolves would come, unleashed by his father's rage and drowned by their primal bloodlust. Now too, Horus had a serpent whispering in his ear, and would surely let it come to pass. Prospero would die, and he too would die with it. He and his sons would meet the Executioner's axe and pay a paltry price for that which had been wrought of ignorance. He didn't need to see the writ, he didn't need to hear his sons come to him with news of woe. He had already seen it passed from golden hands to golden hands, before being lifted to the king of winter wolves.
As if sensing his hesitation, his self-effacing doubt, the multitudinous predators turn to see him as prey for the first time. Through the aetheric seas and swirling maelstroms of living colours, tendrilled beasts squirm and thrash as they slice through the current to confront him.
Perhaps better now, here, than in the material world. Perhaps there could be some semblance of recompense he could pay. Suspended in the sparkling void as a luminous star, the Crimson King looks upon the limitless ocean that seethes around him.
“What will the wolves find here if I am gone?” he wonders to himself as the titanic form of a gelatinous mountain of spectral muscle turns its thousand eyes upon his dimming form. “Wolves will come to hunt, to kill, and to gather when they sense the end is near. Animals cannot be blamed for following their instinct.”
A voice whispers in his ear, so alike the great heralds of the future to whom he owed so much. “Is that all they do, mighty king of Prospero?”
Magnus did not so much turn, as redirect his conscience to an infinitesimal spot that he had seemingly missed lurking in the shadows. No, not missed, overlooked.
The Crimson King confronts the slender, feminine form coalescing so near to him. She was pale, bovine, with two pairs of arms and a slender swishing tail, naked aside from the garlands of gold and bangles on her wrists. Her jet black eyes reflect a pale orange glow within the elongated skull. She was so far beneath him that he could obliterate her with a thought, and so often it was her kind that shied away from him.
This one did not.
“Peace, Crimson King.” She winks and cocks her head to the side, her swaying movements imitating a living flame made of smooth flesh. “I come here as a herald of comfort and joy.”
“I know your kind.” Magnus hardens his resolve, and like a tsunami, waves of pure eldritch force ripple outwards from him. “You think me a witless child, that I would listen to you?”
“I am but a friend of a friend of a sibling, o' lord of sorcerers.” she feigns a curtsy, grasping at the hem of a dress most certainly absent. “I had watched your intervention. Most admirable, o' loyal, generous-”
“You try my patience, creature.” Magnus focuses his attention on it, even as the immense monoliths delving through the oceans of dreams fade away from the resplendent star in their midst.
She bows her head in supplication while spreading her upper arms wide. “The message I impart is this,” behind her head among the swirling eddies of pink and purple, a bright white crescent moon forms in the abyss. “The Wolf seeks blood, but the Sun brings with it Illumination through the Night. Trust in yourself, Crimson King. When you awaken, you will greet a new dawn.”
In a puff of smoke that sizzles like motes of silver dust, the creature disappears and flows back into the endless tides.
Author's Note
Aaaalright, there's the two vignette style bridges. Next time, we'll be getting into the meat of it again.
Chapter 14: Party Matters
Rays of golden light spill in through the slats in the blinds, shining deceptively over the scullery staircase leading down in an almost hypnotic spiral. Groggily stumbling down the steps first thing in the morning was probably a bit dangerous, but the distant waft of breakfast was hard to pass up. Moondancer narrows her eyes, hoping to clear away some of the hazy blur with little success. The occasional yawn only adds to the haggard appearance, complimenting the mare's mussed up mane and slightly askew glasses perched on her scrunched muzzle.
Early mornings like this could file themselves straight in the trash. Her mind wanders for a moment until her barrel brushes the chilly crystal wall, crossing her forehooves and making her pause in place with a snort of irritation. Reflexively scowling at the wall, she stares straight into the beam of light filtering through the shrouded window.
“GAH, Celestia damn it!” she blinks away the spots and growls before staggering half-blinded down the stairway. “Twilight, you're Celestia's student, make her cut those horse apples out.” She mutters darkly while bumbling down the steps leading to Ponyville Castle's kitchen.
Oh sure, it didn't have the splendor of the rarely used grand ballroom, but for whatever reason, Sunset and Twilight both seemed to enjoy the intimately set up breakfast nook. That cozy little corner of the tidy kitchen had been her destination every morning since their arrival in Ponyville.
“If I wanted cramped I'd have stayed at home.”
Not for the first since she'd arrived in Ponyville, or even the first time that morning, did the question of her leaving the rural Equestrian town enter Moondancer's mind. Sure, she was part of one of the princess's vanity project, or princesses if Twilight counted as part of this now, but it still felt like a monumental hassle. And she didn't even have much to do other than look up magical theory while not blabbing about it to anypony else in town. Which was perfectly fine, the local yokels weren't good for much beyond taking her lunch order. And even if she had, theoretically, let slip that they were researching alternate dimensions or the possibility of a Starswirl-Rosethorn bridge, they'd ask what was wrong with the Ponyville hoofbridge. 'It worked just fine.' Cretins.
Although apparently Lyra Heartstrings was apparently lurking somewhere around, and she was a bit... something or other.
'Maybe that's why Ponyville'?
There was so many weird things that happened that that nopony would second guess whatever cataclysmic mistake experimenting with an ancient magical artifact would produce. Ponies around here would shrug their withers and go on after an appropriate amount of screaming.
Buck the whole 'connected to the Everfree laylines' theory that Sunset had proposed. Ponies just didn't give a flying feather, and that was fine with her. And if something did blow up, it probably wouldn't make half of Canterlot city slip off the mountain. Just a few tents, some thatch roofs, and maybe a tree or two. Ponyville had a cart load of trees. So it was probably just the Princesses covering their bases, that's all
“I'm sorry again for all the trouble we're putting you through, Twilight.”
“Oh, it's no trouble at all. I'm happy to have you here!”
And there are the way-too-chipper voices pounding in her hea- a familiar scent wafts up the staircase and drifts past her. It was sharp, almost rank, and pungent enough to make her eyes water.
Coffee: the elixir of choice for non-morning mares.
By the time she's stumbled down the last twist in the stairwell, a pair of ponies already have their focus fixed on her while something sizzles away on a stove-top griddle tended too by a familiar purple drake. Though, at the crack of doom in the morning, Moondancer couldn't remember his name.
“Morning, Twilight, Sunset, harraugh -” she coughs and covers her muzzle.
Twilight and Sunset sit on some comfy looking embroidered cushions while facing one another in the cheery little breakfast nook. The light pours in over the checkered azurite tiled floor and across the wooden table, illuminating the curling wafts rising up from three cheerfully coloured mugs. A gleaming silver serving tray with a sugar bowl and matching cream carafe seems almost out of place despite the castle's other opulent amenities.
“Mmmhmm, espresso. Knew you might need-” the words hadn't even left Sunset's lips before the unattended mug is levitated over to Moondancer. The pony takes a cautionary sniff, drawing a slightly pleased smirk from Sunset.
She quickly takes a deep swig from the burning hot liquid, ignoring the uneasy grimaces of both her friends. With a satisfied gasp of air, Moondancer scrunches her nose a bit and looks at the liquid swishing at the bottom of the cup.
“It's not quite as good as yesterday.”
“I made it today.” Twilight harumphs and wrinkles her muzzle.
“Oh.” Moondancer awkwardly replies. “Then you're getting better.” She quickly drains the dregs and pads over towards the sink with a sour 'bleh'.
Spike quietly chuckles, looking over a shoulder as he teases the edge of a shredded haycake on the grill with a spatula. “Yeah, she is. Pretty soon it'll be something somepony might even ask for in the morning.”
“Spike!”
“Yeah, Spike.” Moondancer grins faintly while trotting over to the elaborate silver coffee machine resting in a disused corner of the kitchen. It was close enough to the dragon's prep-space where ceramic mixing bowls and globs of congealing haycake batter spot the countertop.
Checking the elaborate silver fluted coffee maker, Moondancer just looks back over her withers at Twilight. Her friend holds her gaze for a moment, long enough for the Unicorn mare to shoot her a slightly disappointed look before mumbling, “Thanks.” Then she starts again from scratch.
Her ears perk up when she hears Sunset's stage whisper, “didn't take her for a coffee snob.”
Twilight at least has the grace to nod try to hide the conversation, “Her sister's a barista at a pretty high end Canterlot cafe.”
'Yeah, and she'd probably faint if she saw a machine like this being used to make, well, whatever that was.' Moondancer checks the heating coils, peering carefully at the temperature gauges of the still hot contraption before adjusting a few silver toggles.
“I figure if it's black, caffeinated, and doesn't need a spoon to scoop out of a cup then it would be good enough.”
Shooting a look back at her friend, Moondancer spots the grin on Sunset's face. It was way too early for that filly to be smiling like a cow in clover.
Okay, that was probably a little speciesist.
“Wanna give it another try then, Twilight.” Spike grins, patting his pink frilled apron down and tossing a casual wink and flick of a spoon in her direction. A bit of the batter spatters across the floor halfway between the table and stove, prompting a glare from Twilight.
Twilight scrunches her muzzle, but promptly grabs a spare rag in her magic and wipes the floor clean. Then quickly scrubs it a little more, as if polishing out any hint of the batter before tossing the soiled cloth in the sink.
Moondancer turns back around to face the espresso machine, quietly chuckling as it coughs and gurgles to life.
Satisfied, Moondancer turns back and trots over to take her seat on the cushions. Sunset shuffles over, making more room and placing herself between Moondancer and a still slightly scowling Twilight.
“So,” Moondancer starts with a breath that turns into a resigned grumble, “where's Starlight and the blue braggart?”
“Starlight went back upstairs. Rainbow's not here yet.” Spike calls back.
Sunset snorts and bites her lip. “Heh, ouch. Little mean there.”
The drake merely shrugs at the offense, but alarm bells were ringing in Moondancer's mind. “Wait, Rainbow?”
It's Twilight's turn to shrug as she cradled her mug in her hooves. “Okay, I may have told her about the whole thing, and she may have been excited to see real life aliens. So I said to meet us at seven o'clock.”
'Filly, YOU told ME not to say anything about what we were doing!'
Sunset lofts a brow, “You did tell her that the whole 'mirror meeting' is actually happening tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah,” Twilight starts and takes a breath, inhaling the steam from her milky coffee. “But all the girls were excited, and we still have to make sure Luna's all ready and set for the whole delegation.”
Sunset's brow arches higher as she quizzically digs, “All of them?”
“Okay, Fluttershy was hesitant.” Twilight sniffs again and sips from her mug.
“I guess friends of the princess get to know everything." Moondancer huffs and calls back over her withers, "I'm more surprised that Rarity would want anything to do with that.” She catches a slight twitch from the drake out of the corner of her eye. Deciding to adjust her glasses and ignore the tell, she adds, “Or the farmpony.”
“Applejack's curious.” Twilight replies simply, leaving Sunset to fix Moondancer with a slightly sharper expression.
“Just because she's a farmpony doesn't mean she's stupid or uninterested. You tell her that the Princess has been talking with an alien leader and she'll be just as curious as anypony else.”
“Alright, alright.” Moondancer flinches back, turning her head to the side and letting her untied mane obscure some of her face. “Point taken. What about Pinkie?”
“I've was told by Princess Luna that bringing Pinkie along might not be a good idea.” After a moment, Twilight seems to deflate. “Or, rather that, 'in no uncertain terms is Laughter to be permitted within the diplomatic delegation sent to greet the Warmaster.'” Her chin lowers to just above the tabletop as she gingerly shoves her mug further towards the center of the table. “It feels wrong not to include her.”
Caught in some awkward lull, Moondancer purses her lips as Sunset reaches out to pat the uncomfortable Alicorn's shoulder. “Yeah, I know Twilight. But maybe it's best to trust Luna on this one. I mean, he didn't strike me as much of a 'fun' kind of stallion. And there's always next time, right?”
A glimmer of hope seems to flicker in Sunset's eyes, but Twilight just nods and breathes out a resigned sigh, “I guess so. But she's going to be so disappointed.”
“Well, think of it this way: Luna's bound to have her friend show up, right? So there's bound to be a few more opportunities to get Pinkie to host something fun to make up for it.”
Twilight blinks and looks up, “a gesture of reciprocity?”
“What better way to welcome him to Equestria than saving Pinkie Pie's party antics for here?” Sunset flashes a bright and knowing grin.
“Whose decision is it, anyway?” Spike calls from his station, not turning around.
“Luna's,” Moondancer interjects, drawing whatever ire might have been directed at Spike. The Unicorn mare takes it in stride with a dismissive shrug, “What? It is, isn't it?”
“Yeah, though I'm sure we'll all be invited.” Sunset rolls a hoof and then goes back to smiling before patting Twilight's hoof. “It'll be fine.”
With that out of the way, a slightly awkward lull falls over the ponies. It's broken in another few moments by the coughing sound of the silver coffee machine, prompting Moondancer to wiggle out from her cushion with a muttered, 'thank Luna'.
Moondancer circles around to the spluttering contraption as Spike quickly darts to a broom closet. He drags a footstool to the pantry with a grunt, “So what's the plan for today, Twilight?” The diminutive dragon calls while rooting through the upper shelves.
Twilight's ears perk up. “Well,” she hesitantly starts before a smile forms on her muzzle. "We have time for breakfast, then we meet Rainbow at the sch-" her expression falls again. "At the research station."
"Sorry Twilight, I know this has to be hard for you." Sunset sighs, once more patting Twilight's hoof. The Alicorn swiftly gulps down another mouthful of her drink and nudges the empty mug aside. "Hey, Moondancer. Is there, like, maybe another cup in there?"
Moondancer opens her mouth but stops at seeing Twilight's morose slump. From her drooping wings, even tucked against her barrel like that, to the tightening jawline, her friend didn't cut the cheeriest sight. Biting back a sigh of resentment at a missed opportunity, the Unicorn mare nods. "Yeah, I think so." She quickly grasps Twilight's cup from the table with her levitation, before quickly refilling it with the rich, smooth espresso.
With a weak smile, she returns it to the table in front of the Alicorn. "Try that, it should perk you up a little. Or, y'know, at least give you a caffeine buzz."
Twilight flashes her a weak smile, "Thank you." Before she adds two spoons of sugar and a not inconsiderable amount of cream to the espresso, drawing a reflexive eye-twitch from Moondancer.
'Sure, drown out the taste, that'll do just fine.'
But Twilight's faint happy expression mellows the Unicorn as she returns to the coffee machine. "And speaking of machines." she says, clearing her throat.
"Uh, Moony? Nopony was talking about machines." Sunset grins.
"Okay," Moondancer says, flicking her tail in irritation before turning and holding up a forehoof. "It's like a quarter past six and not all of us can be as cheerful as you miss bouncy butt. You're lucky my brain's working at all. So as I was about to say ' and speaking of machines,' did Clare and the two sisters get everything put back together?"
The princess nods, and after a sip of her drink, she finally sits back up. "We had to go through and work out a few technical difficulties, but I probably wouldn't have believed it unless I'd seen it for myself. Everything's set up down there. It's just a matter of testing and examining the results to see if Clarion Call's theories surrounding signal transmission are valid. But the receiver is working just fine, and they have been updating us on their progress, umm, periodically."
"Meaning whenever they surface from their dungeon for food and, hopefully, showers?" Moondancer mutters, though by the covert cough covering up a laugh from Sunset, it wasn't quiet enough.
"Something like that."
“And it'll really work? We're going to be speaking to aliens and monsters and just hoping that everything turns out perfectly fine?” Moondancer scrunches her muzzle and caresses the warmed silver body of the espresso brewer while mumbling, “Once more, my new friend, once more.”
“C'mon, you don't have to say it like that, Moony.” Sunset chirps with a candid smile. “I know there's some scary stuff out there, but between the princesses, including the one sitting right here in this room-” she shoots a hoof out to bump Twilight's shoulder with a wink, “I think we're more than ready for whatever happens. You'll be fine going over there.”
'Wait, going over-'
“Pffft, HAH! ” Moondancers laughs and spins in place to face her friends. “Yeah, buck that, I'm not trotting off to Luna knows where.”
“Moondancer... Language.” Twilight casts a sharp glare her way, and Moondancer traces her focus to Spike. The young drake had been looking her way, and the weight of at least a little guilt made its presence known on her back.
Spike shook his head with a nearly imperceptible huff, 'Heard worse with Rainbow around.'
“Weeeeell y'know,” Sunset grips her mug in both hooves, seeming to roll it from side to side to look over the lattice pattern. “That should be fine. You'll have Trixie and Starlight here to keep you busy while we're gone with Luna.”
The young dragon returns to his haycakes, and Moondancer returns her attention to the glossy silver machine that once more starts to gurgle and splutter when she flicks the lever. Staring ahead, her vision focused on the stretched image of her reflection staring back at her.
“Clever filly.” she mutters. “Okay, okay. How about a compromise? You take Trixie with you, and I'll... and you can feel free to finish the rest of that sentence however you want.”
“Deal with telling Pinkie Pie she can't go meet Princess Luna's newest best friend.” Once again, Moondancer catches a blurry reflection of a grinning Sunset looking her way.
Moondancer sighs and presses a hoof to her forehead just under her horn. This morning hadn't started well, it wasn't going well, and now it felt like she was being tugged along on a leash by a particularly manic pet owner. A smiling morning pony of a pet owner.
“Fine,” she huffs, “Who else is going?”
“-And BOOM, that's it! They'll be super impressed, and we'll get a sweet start to the whole 'getting to know the alien' thing! Heh, no need to thank me!”
Moondancer's eyes unblur as she blinks, the downdraft of wings ruffling her mane and clipping the thermos held in her telekenetic grip. She can only bite back a frustrated snort of derision as the gaudy blue Pegasus loops a barrel roll over Twilight's back and landing on the Princess's far side. Though 'land' was something of an exaggeration. She kept airborne after barely scuffing her hooves on the dirt.
Now she was the only pony lingering behind the little herd, three abreast in front of her, trotting down the dusty Ponyville street in the early morning sunlight. The faint breeze whisks away the early morning mists, still set alight by the rays of sunlight spilling over the Canterlotian mountains, turning the dusky slate peaks an incandescent orange to match her friend's fiery mane and glowing disposition.
'Bleh, morning ponies.'
“Lets just go easy to start with, Rainbow.” Twilight turns to look at her cocky friend, her bright smile looking far more genuine than the reserved grin she pasted on her muzzle at breakfast.
Sunset's giggle melded with the distasteful cringe and none-too-subtle eyeroll that Moondancer gave the grinning narcissistic sports mare.
'Yeah, sure, crack open a cider and watch da game, gorlz. Right? Wonder if it's a 'blue pony' thing.'
Twilight and Sunset's friend was annoying, but thankfully not completely insufferable. So that was a plus. And admittedly the pinion clip to her mug did snap her up out of that early morning fugue she'd dropped into somewhere along the way to the lab. Now she was staring dumbly at Twilight's flank like a perv with the expression of a traumatized custodian after a Pinkie party.
“Yeah. Don't want to blow all our best diplomatic moves the first time out, right?” Sunset bumps her flank into Rainbow with a knowing wink.
She'd blocked out the blathering Pegasus from the moment she showed up on Twilight's front door ten minutes ahead of schedule, instead of at the laboratory.
Upending the last of her travel thermos, a final trickle of life-infusing coffee dribbles down onto her tongue before giving up its last breath. You shall be missed, valiant caffeinated friend.
The first step across the arched bridge of Twilight's one-time school catches her by surprise, nearly causing her to stumble, and drawing a quizzical glance from Sunset. The kind of glance that made her feel like a foal and asked if she was alright.
'Don't patronize me, Sunny.' She pushes her glasses up her muzzle, but it can't quite hide the rosy blush of embarrassment completely.
“You okay there?” Sunset asks, her question drawing the attention of Twilight and Rainbow who look back over their withers.
“Sure, she looks alright to me.” Rainbow actually throws a bit of a smile, perhaps some form of camaraderie? Or the dope was just too eager to stop for a second to make sure.
“'M fine.” Moondancer mumbles under her breath and busies herself packing away her thermos in her simple saddle bags.
“So then hurry up!” Rainbow's smirk widens into an almost manic grin as she shoots off over the bridge and to the front door masked in early morning shadows. “What are you waiting for, Harthswarming?”
After a quiet chortle and a final shake of her head, the Alicorn princess redoubles her pace as she trots forward.
“Well,” Sunset merely slows her pace enough to ease in alongside Moondancer, “She seems better than she has in a while.”
“Hmm.” The pale Unicorn hums noncommittally. The pair wait for Twilight to fish out a key from her saddle bags and open the front door to the enormous marble hall before turning to her friend. “Is it as insulting to you as it is to me?”
Sunset blinks and shoots a bewildered look at her friend, “Hmm? No. Why?”
“Oh, I don't know. Maybe because she's been moping around and turning down everything I've tried to do all week to help her. Then little miss noisy eye sore comes along and it's business as usual with a spring in her step and a burr in her backside.” Moondancer scrunches her muzzle.
“Wow. You're a bitter little filly this morning, eh?”
“Six in the morning wake up calls will do that to you miss sunshine snoot.”
Sunset sighs a bit and shakes her head, “Just be glad Twilight's snapping out of it. And besides, Rainbow can have that effect. Trust me, it's better for everypony this way.”
“It's that or incoherent rage, according to the farm filly.” Moondancer follows with a sigh, dipping into the comforting coolness of the shadow cast by the west entrance of the building.
“That's part of her charm.” Sunset smiles, holding the wide whitewood door open for Moondancer.
The Unicorn enters the cool foyer, already hearing the echoing tap of hooves and hushed voices echoing off the high ceilings and bouncing among the towering rows of marble pillars rising from either side of the entrance. “Charm is Clerk Stables or Viridian Lee, not-” the Unicorn makes an emphatic gesture towards the Pegasus.
Sunset chortles and closest the door with an echoing boom. Amid the resonant echo, Moondancer was mostly certain she heard Sunset say something about 'works for her'.
'Everypony in this town is crazy.' Moondancer mutters back under her breath and waits for Sunset to trot alongside, adding the clip-clop of their hooves to stagnant pall of the oppressive entrance hall. Twilight's hoofsteps sound a little lonely with Rainbow Dash never setting hoof on the ground, but the smile of the face of her friend was genuine, even if the odd acoustic disconnect a little unnerving.
Nevertheless, the coolness was pleasant and the subdued ambiance something close to a weekend lab class at Canterlot U. “Just one coffee short of a decent start.” Moondancer mumbles to herself again.
“I still haven't got a clue how you aren't in the washroom every five minutes. What's that, number four?” Sunset asks, giving Moondancer a nudge. The slow blink and deadpan stare in reply only makes Sunset roll her eyes with a smile still gracing her face.
A sharp clop of hooves from further down the hall heralds the arrival of somepony else. “Did they really need to take out all the carpeting?” Moondancer sighs and cranes her head up, as if finally emerging from the protective cowl of her turtle neck sweater.
“That's what's different!” Sunset mutters with a groan, only to be interrupted by an echoing voice.
“Princess Twilight!”
Moondancer recognized the voice as one of the reasonable sisters, the non-lisping one. Sine? Cosine? She lost track of them pretty quickly. The plum hued mare merely trots in from an adjacent corridor in the north wing.
It snaps Twilight and Rainbow out of their friendly conversation. “Yes, miss Wave?” Twilight replies as officiously as possible. Rainbow's lip bite and eager high pitched sound were pretty indicative of her hope.
“The princess is waiting in your office.”
“YES! ” Rainbow laughs, turning a sharp loop above the Alicorn's head.
“But we've got another message, it sounded pretty urgent. Actually I was just getting my saddle bags to head over to the castle.”
Now that Moondancer got a little closer, sure enough, she could see the hastily packed saddle bags on the somewhat disheveled Unicorn's flank. She had bags under her eyes, her fur was ill-kept, and her bushy mane was frazzled and split every which way. Definitely the 'scholar all nighter' look. Digging through her pack quickly, Sine Wave produces a small square of folded paper.
“Urgent secret special message about aliens?” Rainbow's raspy register rises another few notes until it was a scratchy murmur. “Soooo cool!”
It's taken from the mare's magical grasp by Twilight, who quickly and carefully unfolds the missive. She goes quiet for a moment, and evidently reads it again.
“C'mon, don't leave me hanging!” she zooms up behind Twilight, nearly laid across her back as she reads it from over her shoulder. “What's it say?”
By now, even Moondancer could feel that faint electric tension from a too-quiet Twilight. Picking up her pace at the same time as Sunset, Moondancer hurries towards the Alicorn, forming a little knot now gathered around the simple stationary torn from a lined notepad.
Twilight reads the message aloud, a rising note of concern creeping in from the very start. “Alert code vermilion. Repeat. Alert code vermilion. Translation complete. Fleet has arrived at site two-five-one lagrangian point prime. Ident, Vengeful Spirit, Cthonic Dawn, Judicature, three ewe-delta class vessels. Course projection, black prime. Disposition, war footing, aggressive. Eee-tee-eh-eye-oh sixteen-two-seventeen. Course of action requested immediately. Repeat. Course of action requested immediately. Aech-Dee .”
“Fleet?! ” Moondancer grimaces as Rainbow's scratchy shriek blasts her ears flat. “There's gonna be a fleet?!”
Despite the irritated glare Moondancer shoots her, the Pegasus seems to vibrate from excitement. A notion that nopony else looked like they shared judging by the mixture of somber and pensive looks going around the rest of the circle.
Sunset's curious sideways glance asks a question that doesn't quite translate out to Moondancer. Twilight stares at the missive, more obviously puzzling out the question of the acronyms.
“Well,” Sunset pips up after a few awkward seconds of silence broken only by wingflaps of the Pegasus. “We shouldn't keep Princess Luna waiting.”
“O-oh, right.” Twilight folds the note up and quickly bobs a head to Sine. The Unicorn pony steps aside wordlessly as the party continues on their way down the empty corridors of the nascent 'School of Friendship'. A few hanging gonfalons in the main entrance hall are emblazoned with the Equestrian signet while several sapphire banners bear the mark of Luna alone. But something else draws Moondancer's eye as entrance corridor passes into an obnoxiously long carpeted hallway. There were negative spaces, vacant spots as obvious as empty statue plinths just waiting for something else.
The mystery passes into silence, leaving the mare alone with a few lingering thoughts and the innate feeling of unease. But she plods along, blocking out Rainbow Dash's faint chittering questions that sounded only passively answered by Twilight.
A bump on her flank awakens the mare fully, getting her to look to the offender only to see Sunset's grinning face. “Don't go blindly stumbling down the halls now, Moony.”
“I wasn't...” Moondancer blinks and realizes full well that even now she'd have to awkwardly turn to enter the Headmistress's office. “Well...” she starts but notices the Unicorn mare's smarmy grin and wink, “Quiet you.” And between them, the pair trots into the dreary office space.
“Princess Luna?” Twilight calls as Moondancer's eyes adjust to the gathering gloom of the quarters. With thick swathes of purple drapes covering the wide bank of windows, only a pale green shrouded lamp and flickering candle illuminates the paper strewn desktop. The scent of sealing wax and sharp tang of ink permeates the air, mingled with the slightly musky pong of lavender and dried elderberries. From the coffee rings plain to see on the desk, Luna had been there for quite a while.
“Iiiiis everything okay?” Rainbow's hesitant question seems to snap the Princess of the Night from her entranced work.
“Ah, Twilight Sparkle. Loyalty, oh, good evening everypony.”
The Diarch's voice holds an edge of tiredness. It's almost strange that aside from the pale glow of her magic, the Alicorn Princess's forehooves were illuminated in the desk light, but besides that, she was as shrouded as the darkest recesses of the room.
“Evening?” Sunset asks, then clears her throat.
Aside from her voice, not even a breath of air disturbs the hauntingly silent chamber.
“Can we maybe open the curtains?” Sunset asks aloud while gesturing at the windows.
“Hmm?” Luna pauses for a moment, “Oh, of course.”
With a 'shick' of rattling curtain rings, the blazing sun floods in, warm and uninviting.
“GAH!” Moondancer screws her eyes shut, feeling the throb in the back of her head even as Sunset gives a little sigh of contentment. “You are a wicked, wicked pony, Sunset Shimmer.” Moondancer mumbles angrily and opens a single watery eye to gaze blurrily at the dark blue outline silhouetted in the burning eye of the sun itself.
“You said you wanted to see us?” Twilight interjects.
“Is the alien fleet already here?!” Asks Rainbow just as eagerly, “What do they want? Whaddya need, Princess?” Her racing tone and the little swooping sounds of displaced air give the somewhat blinded Unicorn an idea of the Pegasi's careening movements.
“Hmm? Nay, nothing of the sort, Loyalty.”
“But the letter-” Twilight begins, only to be stopped by the raising of a hoof, though it still looked like a blob or an aubergine to the Unicorn.
“The meeting is set for noon on the morrow.” She takes a breath, “But We wished to speak to you, Twilight. It concerns what will take place.”
There's a small lull, just long enough for the desk to squeak as it's opened by Luna's magic. Moondancer's eyes had cleared enough to see the frazzled, unkempt features of the Princess of the Night. The papers strewn across the desk were in rough piles, but fanned out so the Alicorn could see them all at a glance. Even a perfunctory peek reveals pictures and obnoxiously long correspondence typed on official looking stationary.
“The Chancellor believes that the initial meeting should be met with a degree of professional aplomb and dignity, not overly spectacular and certainly not hostile. And in that regard, We are forced to agree. Thus, we are to keep our welcoming retinue to a minimum.”
“If this is about Pinkie-” Twilight begins, only to stop when Luna holds up a hoof again.
“Chancellor Neighsay has made the argument that none of the Elements of Harmony should be placed in danger in meeting a relatively unknown entity before it is guaranteed to be safe.”
“Pfft, buck that!” Rainbow snorts and turns to Twilight, “C'mon, after what we've dealt with there's nothing we can't handle! It's just a single lame stallion who wants to be the center of attention. Seriously, who's better at this stuff than us?”
Sunset looks back and forth between a silent Luna and an equally quiet Twilight. “She's kinda got a point, Twi. I mean, you are the Princess of Friendship. I'd think that you'd be just about the best pony other than Luna to set up a first meeting.”
Luna hadn't said a word. Moondancer's attention focuses on the dark Princess as she sits with her forehooves steepled in front of her muzzle, keeping her cyan eyes locked on the younger royal. Blinking a few more times, Moondancer steals another glance at the pictures of ponies on the desk just as Luna's magic closes them. The half dozen files are shuffled into some semblance of order before she sets them aside.
“But you are a Princess, and as such, We are sure the Chancellor would not object to your presence at an official meeting. Tradition also states that one of significance may bring a second as part of a retinue.” Luna's looks towards the blue Pegasus and shares a tired smile. “I've already chosen mine, miss Shimmer.”
Sunset stiffens for a moment, then just bobs her head. “Alright, but I thought you said no Elements of Harmony?”
“Loyalty would be going as 'Miss Rainbow Dash' the escort for the Princess of Friendship, not an Element of Harmony or a Wonderbolt.”
“That seems awfully specific.” Moondancer hums, “Who else is going?”
'Please not me, please not me, PLEASENOTME.'
As if waiting for the question, Luna shoves the files towards the edge of the desk.
Moondancer looks over the files as Twilight quickly peruses the cover page and photo. “Doctor Fauna M.D. as a resident biologist and veterinarian. Doctor Northpoint emeritus, eminent architect and member of the EEA. Mane Allgood, Bachlorette of botany and biology-”
“Scoot's mom is here?” Rainbow ducks in, looking over Twilight's shoulder. “Yeash there's a lot of eggheads. That's what you get with a bonehead in charge.”
The awkward silence and vicious glare from Twilight gets Rainbow to plaster a fake grin on her muzzle, “heh, no offence.”
“As insensitive as Dash is,” Sunset starts and takes the first two files. Looking them over she mumbles, "This is looking like an all EEA science expeditio-”
“Ah mare, they got Snap, too?” Rainbow continues with a bit of a snort, “I mean I figured he'd be around with Mane. I wondered why they were back in town this week. They're never around for that long but I guess that explains it.” She bites her lip, looking a little awkward. Moondancer spots 'Snap Shutter', seeing photography and contractor for the EEA.
“Not all of them are EEA, Sunset.” Twilight replies, scrunching her muzzle up. She passes a file over, though it gets nothing but a little 'huh' from the cheery morning mare.
“Lightning Du-”
“WHAT?!" Dash snatches the file from Twilight's grasp, “No way, NO BUCKING WAY! The hay is this?!” The Pegasus snarls and slams the grinning photo of an athletic Pegasus mare down on the desk hard enough for Moondancer to feel the vibration through her hooves.
“So they're trying to keep us out of it but they go with that featherbrained washout?!”
For her part, Luna takes the verbal barrage without so much as flinching. “You disapprove?”
The Pegasus shakes, trying in vain to form something coherent in the face of Luna's neutral stare. “Uhh, yeah! You bet I do! She'll just show off and blow the whole thing! Trust me, it won't go well if she's there! That mare can't be trusted!”
Moondancer leans towards Sunset, whispering quietly, “Ex?” It only gets a shrug from her friend.
“We have already approved, just as we have approved your position in this despite the objections of Neighsay.”
“Objections?!” Twilight neatly encases Rainbow in her telekinetic grasp and tugs on her tail for a moment, dragging the fuming pony back. Despite a few more grumbled expletives, the Alicorn gently pats her friend's side to calm her.
“Yes. For the meantime, we shall all go over what the expected events and processes that must be observed for tomorrow.” Luna's gaze unexpectedly turns to focus on Moondancer, who had so far gone mostly unnoticed. “We do apologize that a position in the initial party could not be obtained for you, Moondancer.”
“Darn.” A light flutter of relief courses through her chest as she tries to hide the smile. It always sounded uncomfortable, dangerous, and just a little bit too frightening.
“Instead, you shall remain here with Starlight, miss Cosine and miss Call to listen and observe.”
Where there was a pleasant purple pony, there seemed to be a blundering blue buffoon too. “Great.” Moondancer mutters to herself.
“This is a mistake, I'd rather go on ahead and see this for myself just to make sure that Lightning Dope can't buck anything up. We should be going over there now to see what this place is like.”
“Loyalty,” Luna raises her head and for the first time that morning, cracks a wane smile. “We quite agree.”
